The Wind In Visions
by stan-and-ford-pines
Summary: Neither Stanley nor Stanford are very comfortable with the idea of religion, but when Dipper and Mabel invite them to their bar mitzvah after the end of summer, they'll learn what it truly means to feel the wrath of god. (you can also read on AO3, we're under the username the-mystery-twins)
1. Don't Call Me Sixer

"You serious? That's in spitting distance of the shack!" Stanley was shocked, to say the least. Thirty years of searching for his brother's damned journals, and Dipper had found it well within walking distance of Stanford's house. "I outta pop Ford upside his big nerdy head for that one!"

Stanford Pines shot his brother a look from across the dinner table, carefully placing his knife down on the napkin before replying. "In my _defense_ , not only were you _not_ supposed to get all three journals and reactivate the portal, but Fiddleford and I designed the tree to be hyperrealistic, and virtually undetectable. It originally disguised a hidden bunker." Ford paused, glancing between Dipper and Mabel. "Don't go in there, by the way. To even access the bunker, you need to climb the tree and pull a hidden lever that's a hundred feet up. And once you're inside, there's a lot of weapons that are far more dangerous than a crossbow. And a security room that _will_ crush you if you're not careful. So don't go near it, alright?"

"For once, I'm with Ford. That place sounds dangerous, and I don't want you getting hurt." Stanley said, the frustration over thirty years of searching fading into concern for his niece and nephew. No matter what trouble they got into, he could never stay mad at them for very long. And if it hadn't been for Dipper, Stanley likely would've never found the journals to begin with, so he let it slide in favor of more pressing matters. As long as Dipper and Mabel stayed away from Ford's spooky-scary apocalypse bunker, he considered himself satisfied.

"Yeah, about that… Is it the same one with the terrifying shape shifting monster? And the cute little caterpillars? Because we **'** ve totally been there." Mabel recalled this memory as if were nothing, and happily returned to the slightly overcooked hamburger helper in front of her.

At this, Ford went very pale. His fork dropped against the plate with a loud _clang_ , splattering bits of ground beef across the tablecloth. "You... went _into the bunker_?!"

Dipper was quite proud of the clever way he'd discovered the bunker, and assumed it wasn't too big of a deal. "Yeah, a few weeks ago. We figured we might find more about you and your journals in there. Things did go awry...but it was nothing we couldn't handle."

"Now, hang on just a minute! Wasn't it you who _promised_ he'd only use that journal for self defense?! And _not go looking for trouble?!_ " Stanley was livid. Dipper and Mabel could have gotten hurt or killed, based on what Ford and Mabel were saying. And if the past thirty years were any indication, Stanley would never have found them.

Both Dipper and Mabel looked ashamed. Sure, they weren't looking for trouble on purpose, but they now knew _exactly_ what their Grunkle Stan meant when he set that rule.

"We were just looking for the _author…_ " Dipper said, quietly, not wanting to admit that he'd broken a rule and made a mistake. "And anyways, wasn't it _you_ who _promised_ that he didn't have any more _bombshell secrets about the town?_ "

"I've lied about this town for thirty years, one more didn't hurt! And you would've _found_ the darn author _just as easy_ if you'd kept your end of the bargain! You could've gotten killed and I would've never even _known about it_!" Both of them were so wrapped up in their shouting match that neither noticed that Ford had grabbed Mabel and had her huddled behind him in the far corner of the room.

"Mabel, you scraped your knee outside this morning and the blood was red, so I'm _assuming_ you're not the shapeshifter. I want you to listen to me _very carefully_. The Dipper and Stan in front of us _might not really be Dipper and Stan._ " Ford's hand twitched as he gripped the small triangular pistol attached to his hip, and took aim in Stan and Dipper's general direction. "I need you to tell me _exactly_ what happened in that bunker, so I can figure out which one is real."

"Grunkle Ford, wait! The shapeshifter is _definitely_ back in the bunker! Dipper and Grunkle Stan are real!" Mabel cried, grabbing for the gun.

"You're _sure_ , Mabel?" Ford asked, raising the gun towards the ceiling instead of the dinner table now, but holding his right hand on Mabel to keep her between him and the wall. He never took his eyes off Dipper and Stan, steeling his nerves for if he had to shoot one of them, reminding himself that he was aiming for the _shapeshifter_ , not his _family_.

"Yes, I'm sure! Dipper wanted us to help him find the author, er, _you_ , and he got me, Soos, and Wendy to help him out. I figured out your nerdy invisible ink trick, and Dipper used that to find your creepy bunker, and I tried to get him to confess his love to Wendy, and then Soos found a laptop, and Dipper was calling for my help _and I thought he was joking, and then Wendy almost died, and then there were two of her, and then Dipper hit the shapeshifter with the axe, and then Soos and I froze it in y-your c-cryo-c-c-... f-freezy thing-"_ Ford dropped the gun the second he noticed Mabel crying, and knelt down so his face was level with hers.

"Mabel, it's okay. You're not in trouble, and I'm not going to hurt Dipper or Stan. I believe you, they're not the shapeshifter." He put a six fingered hand on her tiny shoulder. "I believe you, Mabel." With that, Mabel buried her face against Ford and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweater, and tried to dry up her tears.

"Ford, what the hell?!" Stanley allowed himself this swear word, his favorite niece was in tears, seemingly at the fault of his brother. Dipper didn't say a word, he just ran to his sister's side, trying to pull her away from Ford. "I can't turn my back for five _seconds_ without-"

"G-Grunkle Stan, he thought one of you was the _shapeshifter_!" Mabel sniffled through her tears.

"I did take out my gun, but I would _never_ fire it at anyone unless I was _absolutely sure_ it was the shapeshifter."

"Yeah, and how would you tell? You don't just pull out a science gun in front of a kid, Ford! You could have asked first!" Stanley turned almost red with rage, he wasn't the best influence on the kids, but this was ridiculous!

"Oh, gee, I only raised it from birth, and encountered several other members of its species in _more_ than a few dimensions. These things can take the form of anything they see, they don't die, and they. _Hate. Humans._ Of course I'm going to use a gun! A _twelve year old_ could figure it out, Stan!"

"...Well he's got ya there…" Dipper said in a small voice, still clinging to Mabel.

"Grunkle Stan, he's just trying to protect us... Please don't fight. I'm okay..!" Mabel quickly wiped her face and put on a smile for Stan, "See? Let's finish dinner." All she wanted was for her two estranged Great Uncles to get along again, and this was not helping.

"...You're still in trouble for going in the bunker in the first place. No Ducktective for a week." Stan knelt down to Mabel's level, scooping her up in his big arms and setting her on his shoulder. "But yeah, I get why Ford did what he did. I don't like it, but I get it."

Mabel and Dipper both pouted a little at the punishment, but it certainly could have been worse. Mabel leaned against Stan and wrapped her little arm around his head **,** to hold ontohis fez for balance. "I'm sorry we disobeyed you, Grunkle Stan."

"It's alright, kid. I'm just glad you're safe." Stan looked down at Dipper, who was standing next to Ford, still miffed about being punished. "Look, Dipper, I know _why_ you did what you did. And, honestly, I probably woulda done the same thing when I was your age. I know I lied to you back then, and I don't regret doing that; I did what I had to to get Ford back. But I still went back on my word, so I'll tell ya what: no Ducktective for me either." Stan knelt down once again, trying not to wince as his knees protested. "Alright?" Stan offered his hand.

"Alright." Dipper said, taking Stan's hand and trying not to yelp as he felt himself being lifted off the ground. Stan's shoulders popped at the sudden weight, but eventually he had both Dipper and Mabel balancing on his shoulders.

Mabel cheered, "WOO, GRUNKLE-BACK RIDE!" and offered Dipper a high five. Dipper accepted her high five, with almost as much enthusiasm. Mabel looked down at Ford with her metallic grin, "Grunkle Ford, you can't tell us what happens on Ducktective this week, okay? No spoilers!"

"Alright," Ford chuckled. "No spoilers. Though, I'm afraid I won't be watching Ducktective this week."

"Aw, why not? You still think it's a dumb kid's show?" Mabel asked, her lower lip sticking out in a false pout.

"No, it's not that. The cryogenic chamber in the bunker hasn't had proper maintenance in thirty years, and I'm going to have to go check on it."

Dipper looked antsy as he asked, "Great Uncle Ford, can I come with you? It would be really cool to get a tour of the bunker."

"Absolutely not." Both Stan and Ford said in unison.

"Maybe one day, once I tone down the security, and make sure the shapeshifter is secure. But right now? No." Ford said, a little more gently this time. "Though, it would be a good idea to have someone accompany me." Mabel raised her hand eagerly.

" _Not you!_ " Once again, Stan and Ford were in perfect sync.

"I was referring to Stanley, the only other capable adult in the room." Both of the twins whined with disappointment, and their Grunkle set them back down on the ground.

"Kids, we _just_ talked about how _dangerous_ that place can be. I know you wanna go out an' have fun but you're already grounded from the first time you two gremlins went down there." Stan paused. "And I'm also grounded, for lying." He added, looking out into the middle distance.

Dipper sighed. "Okay, I guess you're right. Is there anything we _can_ do to help you out, Great Uncle Ford? After what happened with Wendy, I don't want the shapeshifter getting out either."

"Well… I suppose I'll need someone to hide the journals. Just in case." Ford said, scratching his chin.

"Great! We're on it, Grunkle Ford! We're hide and seek masters!" Mabel said, grabbing Dipper's hand and yanking it into the air.

"Once Mabel and I hid from our parents for a whole 6 hours in our toy box before they found us. We've got this down." Dipper said, taking the third journal out from his vest pocket, and gripping Mabel's hand as they ran upstairs to grab the other two.

"...Stan?" Ford asked, tentatively. "Please, I know we haven't gotten along very well lately, but if something happens to me down in that bunker…"

"Alright."

"If the shapeshifter tries to come back looking like me, the whole town would be in danger. _Dipper and Mabel_ would be in danger." Ford continued.

"I said _alright_ , Stanford." Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. Something in the back of his head noted that Ford only ever said please if he _needed_ something from him, but he elected to ignore it. "That shapeshifter's dangerous. Dangerous enough to make _you_ pull a gun on a twelve year old kid. I'll do whatever it takes to keep those kids safe from your experiments… And I read your journals. I _know_ you experimented on this thing."

"...I was in a dark place…" Ford said bitterly, not wanting to give away too much on the subject. "It doesn't excuse what I did to the poor thing. But I _have_ changed…" Ford cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, clasping his hands behind his back. "Regardless, the shapeshifter's most basic instincts compel it to destroy all other lifeforms. They can't get hurt and die, but they _do_ need to eat, and they'd rather murder competing species for resources than work together."

"Sounds like my ex-girlfriend!" Stan joked, making light of the situation like he always did. He could write a whole book of inappropriate Grunkle jokes.

"...I'm not even going to _ask_." Ford sighed, bending over to retrieve his fallen pistol. "We'll need weapons. Stan, I'm… Giving you this pistol. I'll grab my electric gloves, and my rifle, and we'll head out. We'll think of a strategy on the way."

"Aw, this is all I get? Do I get to bring my own toys to the party?" Stan joked once more, although he did have a private arsenal behind the vending machine.

"Well, it depends. Do you own a weapon that can blast its way through five feet of solid tungsten?" Ford said, sardonically. " _I'll_ be the one actually fighting the shapeshifter if necessary. I've dealt with dozens of them, I know how they think."

"Then what do you need me for? You seem to know what you're doing." Stan took the pistol to examine it and twirled it around his index finger.

"Because these things are _dangerous,_ Stanley. Because this one in particular has had thirty years to learn forms that I might not even recognize. Because the shapeshifter could very well take _my form_ and try to trick the kids. If you're there to stop him, to recognize which one is the fake, or at least to help _me_ stop him, _lives_ could be saved."

"...You really think this thing might kill you, don't you." Stan said. "And you need me as your _backup plan_ , as usual. You ever think this thing might kill me? Might take _my_ form?"

"Even if it did, which it can't since it hasn't seen you before, and there's enough of a difference in our appearances to where he can't figure out what you look like on his own-"

"Damn straight. I'm the handsome one." Stan interjected and smirked coyly.

"-I'd be able to tell the difference." Stanford finished, grinding his teeth. "Before we set out, we're going to come up with a signal, a sign to let the other one know who's real. It has to be _very_ specific. Something only _you_ would think of. So, _no_ , you _can't_ just flip me off."

Stan pondered for a while, doing his best to figure out what he would remember. Something humiliating. He then grinned, mischief in his eyes. "Stick your finger up your nose. No, one finger in each nostril!"

" _I'm_ not doing that and _you_ can't come up with my signal! Please, take this _seriously_." Ford said, exasperated and rubbing his temples.

"I'm as serious as the grave! You think some evil monster is gonna think to go digging for gold? No, it's gonna think of some smart nerdy thing, because you're a smart nerd." Ford balked at Stan's statement.

"...Stanley you might be onto something. If we're in a situation where we don't know who's who, one of us will ask for a sign. We'll probably be panicking and get _sentimental_ about it. No one in their right mind would think to do something so… disgusting during a touching moment."

Stan looked just a little too proud of his idea. "Who's the smart twin now, Ford?" He elbowed his brother, chuckling a little.

Ford was a little taken aback. "...I never said you weren't." He said quietly.

Stan felt a little twinge of sadness in his heart, but let it roll off his back. "Being in space or whatever for thirty years made you lose your sense of humor, Ford. C'mon, we should tuck the kids in for the night and clean up dinner..." Stan made every effort to push Ford's comment aside.

"Alright, but we should move _quickly_. And you might want to call Soos and explain the situation before we leave." Ford said, moving towards the dinner table to clean the forgotten dishes. Though the leftover meat has long since gotten cold, and upon closer examination appeared to have bits of hair in it, Ford made sure to save every bite before setting to work washing the dishes.

Stan placed the gun in his coat's breast pocket and pulled himself up the stairs to check on the twins in the attic. He tapped on their door and poked his head in. "You two should be getting your butts in bed." He whispered, just in case they were already asleep. And a cursory glance around the attic told him they were. Dipper and Mabel were passed out together on Mabel's bed, surrounded by a heaping pile of hideously cute stuffed animals. _Good_ , thought Stan. _Those kids haven't been spending as much time together lately. Maybe all this shapeshifter talk got 'em hanging out together again._ Stan turned out their light, and shut their door very carefully. He returned to his room to dress in something easier to move in, and to give Soos a quick call. Soos picked up while Stanley was trying to pull on his pants.

"Mr. Pines, what's up?" Soos sounded cheerful as always to be talking to Stan.

"Soos, I need your help. Ford and I have to...take care of some urgent business. I need you to come over and watch the kids tonight, they're already asleep, but I'm not sure how long we're going to be gone. Maybe until the morning." Stan spoke with a serious voice, but nothing malicious. "Don't let anyone but me and Ford into the shack until we get back. And no matter what happens, no matter what I say and no matter what Ford says, if one of us comes back _alone_? _Don't let them in._ "

"You got it, Mr. Pines." Soos said, before hanging up the phone.

Stan finished getting dressed, wearing worn out jeans, a white t-shirt, and managing to find his old red jacket. He hadn't touched it in years, but he still knew every stain, every hole, like the back of his hand. He knew well enough that this jacket had pockets big enough for a gun of this size and caliber, and he sure as hell wasn't about to ask Ford for the holster. Thirty years on the other side of the portal had turned the man possessive as hell, and Stan was lucky enough to be trusted with the pistol in the first place. So he swallowed any bad memories associated with the faded jacket and slid it on. It fit surprisingly well, considering the fact that the last time he wore it was thirty odd years ago, and he could always rip off the sleeves if things got too intense and he needed to use his fists. Grimacing, he pocketed the gun. He also grabbed a flashlight, and retrieved his trusty old brass knuckles, just in case. He descended the stairwell and returned to the kitchen to look for Ford. The sooner they got this done, the better.

"Are you ready?" Ford asked, rifle strapped to his back and electric gloves over his hands. He was a little concerned that Stanley still had the same jacket he'd brought with him to Gravity Falls thirty years ago, though he wasn't one to talk, considering that he'd kept his old trench coat.

"The kids are asleep, and Soos is on his way. I think we're good to go." Stan took his hands out of his jacket pockets and placed one on his hip. "Am I just following you? We could take the golf cart, Soos has fixed it up to be pretty speedy."

"We're walking. And considering the fact that you don't know where we're going, you're going to be following me. If we fail and the shapeshifter gets to the surface, I don't want it getting to the Shack any faster than it normally would." Ford said, turning to head out the door.

"Okay, but keep in mind I have a shop to run in the morning. I don't want to be up all night." Stan followed him out, and, _thank goodness,_ just as they left, Soos pulled up in the little driveway. _The kids will be fine_ , Stan had to repeat to himself. _Soos stood up to_ _ **me**_ _to protect these kids, they'll be fine, and-_

"... Wait did you just call it the _shack?_ " Stan asked, snapping out of his mantra. A sly smile crept along Stanley's face. "You called your house 'the shack'!"

"No I didn't. You can't prove that I did. Because I didn't." Ford jumped on the defensive, but Stanley was having none of it.

"You called it the shack! Ha, ha! I can't believe it!" Stanley laughed, slapping his knee.

"...Okay, fine. So what if I did. It's not like the Mystery Shack thing you've got going is going to disappear at the end of summer, it just can't be _in my house_. Right now we need to focus on finding the bunker, and doing it _quietly_." Stanford had a tight grip on his rifle, ready to fire at any monsters that might come their way; trying to find his way in the woods was no easy task, but finding his way in the woods at _night_ was on a whole other level.

Stanley pulled out his flashlight and flicked the switch on, illuminating a very small portion of the sea of forest in front of them. "How far out is his thing, again?" He seemed a bit uneasy. He used to have the spirit of an adventurer, but old age and his brother's journal entries had diminished that part on himself.

"Not too far, just let me- Stanley, could you turn that off for a second?" Ford continued only when Stan complied. "Okay, so let's see if I remember this… It's August...which means Virgo will be to the west... ish... meaning Draco should look like… and Ursa Minor is there, which means due North is in that direction. Okay, Stanley, you can turn the flashlight back on now."

"Are you seriously using the fucking stars to navigate us? Just when I think you can't get any nerdier."

"...Earth's life sustaining properties occur in such a small range of possible timelines… Constellations are usually the same or at least similar from dimension to dimension." Ford said after a moment. He went back to marking north in the dirt, and getting his bearings.

Stanley tried his hardest not to look impressed. But damn, that was some pretty cool science. "Well, alright then, we're headed north? Or do I need to turn my flashlight off again?"

"...Stanley if I know which way north is I can figure out which way the other directions are. We're headed east, actually, which is this way." Ford pointed to his right.

"I haven't been on any wilderness treks lately, Ford, go easy on me." Stanley tried not to show his embarrassment. He had learned the cardinal directions at one point in his life, but he never used them, not since he gave up on a life at sea.

"Sorry. I'm… distracted, trying to think of what I'm going to say if the shapeshifter's not frozen. He's basically my son. And I wasn't the best father."

"I thought you said this thing was a destructive monster, now you're saying it was your baby? ...That's pretty fucked up, Sixer." Stanley scoffed. Ford wasn't much of a brother, of course he wasn't going to be a good father.

"I watched it hatch, Stanley. I nursed the damn thing. And sure, his entire species might have a killer instinct ingrained in their psyche, but I still exposed him to…" Ford paused, remembering Bill, remembering what he'd done. No, he couldn't tell Stanley, it'd make their relationship even worse if Stan knew he'd made a deal with the devil. "Something else I'd gotten involved with. He'd seemed okay before then, but after that… He started trying to kill me any way it knew how. I had a freaking identity crisis trying to care for this thing. At one point I was convinced that _I_ was the shapeshifter, and _he_ was Stanford Pines. Do you know how hard it is to make someone with an identical twin have an identity crisis like that?"

Stanley stopped in his tracks to listen to his brother. He had flipped through the journals he managed to get ahold of, but he never read anything explaining something this terrible. Nothing personal. "Ford, I had no idea. That's...that's really messed up. I'm sorry that happened. If I have to, I'll kill the fucker, but I'll go easy on it because it's your... your baby."

"You can't kill it, it regenerates. And even if you could, it's my fault he wound up like this. His best shot is for me to cryogenically freeze it and hope I can figure out a way to reconcile with him."

"It can't be all your fault, you said that being evil or whatever is in its genes right? You can't fix that, Ford, that's just nature."

"It kills other species to compete for resources, Stanley. That doesn't make it evil. People will do the same thing if they're desperate enough. I knew that from the moment it could speak." Ford said, pausing to examine a pine tree. This one was real, with an advertisement for The Mystery Shack nailed to the trunk, but he was looking for a marker, one that had likely been moved in the last thirty years. "How long have we been walking, about ten minutes?"

"I'd say that's about right. You better not be gettin' us lost, Ford." Stan said, narrowing his eyes and feeling the gun underneath the fabric of the jacket, just in case something supernatural decided to make a move towards two wayward travelers.

"Relax. We're close." Ford said, looking back up at the sky to get his bearings again. "Shine your light over there for a second." He pointed off to the left. "I think it should be over here. I just need to get a good look."

"Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on." Stan said with a wave of his hand, and shone the flashlight over the woods. Ford climbed over a fallen log, grunting as he almost lost his footing, and knelt down next to what looked like a pine tree. Stanley held the flashlight between his teeth as he followed suit, wincing as he felt dozens of tiny splinters pierce his skin. The night air was suddenly filled with a metallic clanging sound, and it took Stanley a second to realize that it was coming from Ford's direction.

"Alright, we're here." Ford stood up from where he had been crouched

"This is it? How are we supposed to get in?" Stanley looked over the seemingly normal tree. If this really was a secret entrance to a fallout shelter, it really does a good job of blending in.

"There's a lever about a hundred feet up, I'll have to climb it. You can just wait here." Ford said, hands behind his back.

"Why don't you throw something up there instead? I don't know if you're going to make it all the way up there, old man."

"I'm more agile than you think. Besides, from this far down there wouldn't be enough force behind a throw to jostle it in the right direction." Ford said, unbuckling his belt and wrapping it around the trunk of the tree. "And a round from either of our guns would just destroy it."

"Fine, enough science words, I'll just wait down here." Stan crossed his arms and leaned against another nearby tree, still on the watch for anything lurking in the woods that might cause them trouble.

"And shine your light this way so I can see what I'm doing, if you don't mind." Ford said as he began his climb. The flashlight wasn't quite strong enough to illuminate the highest branches very well, but he really just needed to see where to put his feet. He already knew which branch would be the lever they needed and- "There!" Ford exclaimed as he grabbed the branch in question, pulling the lever and feeling the tree sink into the ground. "Alright, Stan! I'm coming down now. If I fall, make sure to put 'took out President Quagmire in Dimension 854' on my tombstone! They'll know what it means."

Stan jumped back when the tree started moving and tried hard not to look impressed. "I don't think I want to know what that means." Watching his brother scale a tree still made Stanley worry, and once Stanford made it down, he let out a breath of relief.

"Alright, Stan, here's the plan. There's three levels of security before we get to where the shapeshifter is presumably located. I'll need you to guard the entrance at the bottom of this staircase. Don't let anyone or anything out of there, not even an _insect_ , unless it's me and unless I give you the… _ahem_ … signal we discussed earlier. I know how to get past all the security, so I'll be the one actually going in. Got it?" Ford asked, readying his rifle.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, go have fun in your death trap. I'll stand out here. But if you're in there too long, I'm gonna come and look for you." Stanley huffed, a little disappointed at his simple watchdog role.

Ford cocked the rifle and took a deep breath. "...Thank you, Stanley." Ford knew that one or both of them could die tonight if he wasn't careful. He knew exactly how important Stanley's job was, even if Stanley himself hadn't grasped the concept quite yet. Ford's boots thunked against the wood as he descended the spiral staircase, followed by the softer taps of Stan's loafers.

Stan almost didn't recognize the words 'thank you' coming from his brother. _Maybe I'm dealin' with the shapeshifter already._ Stanley paused for a good second before he responded with a quiet "You're welcome."

Ford paused at the bottom of the staircase, just outside the entrance. "Remember, not a _single living creature_ gets past this door. And please, don't leave it unguarded, under any circumstances. If I'm not out in a half hour, there's a switch on the wall behind you that hides the bunker. Flip it and _go get help_." He knew his words were falling on deaf ears; Stanley had potentially caused the apocalypse on the off chance that he'd save Ford from a distant reality, he likely wasn't going to think things through if he thought Ford had fallen prey to the shapeshifter. But if he didn't at least _try_ to warn him, then what good would anyone see in their attempt should they fail tonight? Seeing his brother walking around in the same jacket he wore thirty years ago was reminding Ford exactly what could happen when Stanley Pines is put near a dangerous supernatural thing and not told what it does. He turned to go into the bunker, steeling his nerves to fight the shapeshifter if necessary.

Stanley heard his brother clearly, but he wasn't exactly listening. He was transfixed on some small symbols the flashlight had caught, carved into the side of the 'tree,' near the ground. He recognized these symbols, he had made the same ones in a time of need. _Good water...unsafe camp? Beware?_ The hobo scrawlings warned. Stanley ran his fingers over the writings, they felt as if they hadn't been there very long. "Hey, Ford? There's someone in there." Stanley called out, quickly grabbing the gun from his pocket and followed Ford into the bunker. Whoever was in there could be dangerous, especially if they've dealt with the monster. Dangerous, or dead.

Ford, meanwhile, was busy opening the hatch that led to the first security room. He perked up when he heard his brother's footsteps getting closer. "Yes, Stanley, that's why we're here, now _stay out there_ and whatever you do, don't follow me past this room, it's the one that crushes you if you don't know the right code." Ford said. Whatever Stanley was on about, it would have to wait, he needed to be fast if he wanted to input the code before the heavy metal blocks crushed him. He barely registered the presence of a few candy wrappers from companies that hadn't existed in 1982, but chalked them up to Mable's handiwork. She and the other kids were down here a few weeks ago, after all.

"No, I mean a _person_ , dammit. Listen to me for once!" Stanley said, climbing through the hatch just as Ford was pressing the button. "Woah, what the fresh hell?" Stanley flinched away from the moving panels as one came down dangerously close to where his head had been.

"I told you, this room _crushes people!_ " Ford yelled, grabbing Stanley's wrist and pulling him towards the other end of the room, where the exit vault was. "Just, stay there and get ready to move, there's no time to get you back on the other side." Ford had to move quickly, he only had a minute and a half before the right symbols disappeared. _One… two… three...four!_ The hiss of the vault unlocking itself automatically was music to Ford's ears as he ran for the exit, practically tackling Stanley on the way out.

"Ford what the fuck is wrong with you! Why in god's name do you need a room that _crushes people?!"_ Stan was miffed enough that Ford wouldn't even listen to him, he had to make it worse by being a dangerous know it all, yet again!

"There is an incredibly dangerous, mostly immortal shapeshifter on the other side of that blast shield, Stanley, of _course_ I'm going to have a room that crushes people! Would you do it any different?" Ford adjusted his glasses, and moved towards the ancient control panels, checking the status on all the cryogenic chambers. Only one was on, and it _definitely_ had something in it.

"Holy shit, that looks just like _Dipper_." Stanley was momentarily caught off guard. He'd expected the shapeshifter to be realistic and dangerous, but taking the form of his twelve year old nephew? _No wonder the kid doesn't sleep well at night. He keeps poking his head in where it doesn't belong._

"Holy shit indeed. He was probably counting on someone finding him and thinking that there was a child trapped in there." Ford pressed a few buttons, checking the numbers appearing on a monitor against the ones he was working out in his head. "It looks like the gravity anomalies didn't do any damage. I'll still have to go in and tune up the chamber, but-"

"Stanford, someone is living in your bunker." Stanley interrupted. "We need to either leave, or take care of it. This guy could be dangerous." Stanley had dealt with plenty of territorial people during his years as a drifter. Homeless people will fight like maniacs to keep anything that they can call their own. Lord knows _he's_ had to, on more than one occasion. "Remember what you were sayin' about the shapeshifter killing other species for resources? An' how people do the same thing when they're desperate enough?"

"...What makes you so sure?" Ford asked, tensing up. Now that the main threat was out of the way, he'd had time to really go over what Stanley was saying. And those candy wrappers suddenly looked a lot more ominous.

"Yeesh, Ford, you're telling me you know all those creepy ciphers and codes, but you've never seen a goddamn hobo sign?" Stanley said, double checking his gun to make sure it was still loaded. "So whaddya wanna do? Should we rough this guy up a bit for squatting where there's paranormal bullshit? Or do we leave as quickly as possible and hope this guy doesn't let that thing out?"

All of the sudden, a banging sound came from the metal closet at the far end of the room, and Stan and Ford both immediately pointed their guns in the direction of the noise.

"Whoever, or whatever you are, _freeze right now!_ " Ford said, his voice booming against the rock walls of the bunker. Whatever it was, it most certainly did _not_ freeze. The next thing Ford knew, a flash of brown and white was flying towards him. He tried firing a round from his rifle, but the blur was too quick, and spindly arms had wrapped around the barrel of the gun, trying to wrestle it away from him.

"You no good shapshiftin' varmit! I'll hornswaggle that gun o' yers outta yer hands real quick-like 'fore I let ya aim it in _my_ direction! You've got another thing comin' if you think the ends times can stop-"

"Old Man McGucket?" Stanley pointed his pistol upwards and signaled Stanford to do the same. What in the world was that kook doing down here? How the hell did he figure out all of the crazy security codes? "It's Stan Pines, McGucket, I'm not gonna hurt you!" He said, grabbing the smaller man by the overalls and prying him off of Stanford. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor old man; Stanley could very well have wound up just like Fiddleford if he hadn't come to Gravity Falls to help Ford all those years ago. That, and, he could never allow Fiddleford McGucket to come to harm. Not after what he'd done for Stanley.

"...Wait... Fiddleford? Is that you?" Ford asked in a hushed voice, still on the ground, almost afraid to get up. _Of course he'd come here once he found out the portal was being reopened,_ Stanford thought to himself, _Fiddleford helped build this place, he's the only other person who would have known about it._

"You can't fool me, you slimy skinned devil! I know you're not really Stanford!" McGucket was still in a frenzy, kicking and struggling against Stanley's grip. "I've known Stanford Pines for thirty odd years, an' he don't have six fingers!"

"Alright, settle down you old fart. He's not the shapeshifter." Stanley said, lifting McGucket higher off the ground. "You've been talking to _me_ the past thirty years. I'm _Stanley_. I was posing as my brother, _Stanford_. The real Stanford Pines has six fingers, is a giant nerd, and stuck your head through an apocalypse portal that you erased from your memory somehow. We had this conversation back in '82, remember?" Stanley had known for decades that Fiddleford had access to some sort of mind altering technology, but he'd assumed that thirty years of madness had all been an act.

"Wait, Stanley, you _know_ him?" Ford asked, incredulous. "Surely he would have left town after… after erasing _me_ from his memory."

"Hold on, fellas, I think I'm startin to remember what this gentleman is talkin' about," Fiddleford said, gesturing to Stanley. He'd stopped struggling, and simply hung from the taller man's arm like he did this every day. He aimlessly tugged at the bandage on his beard. "I've been rememberin' lotsa things lately."

Stanley set the little man back down on his feet, and gave him a pat on the back. "Alright, McGucket, what do you remember? Why are you down here?"

"Well, Stanford-"

" _Stanley._ " Ford corrected.

"Sorry. _Stanley_ , them kids o' yers came up to my spot at the dump-"

"You've been living in the _dump?!_ " Ford asked, heartbroken. Fiddleford had been his best friend for years, he was a brilliant engineer, and he was always so kind. To think that he'd ever been homeless in his time of need.

"Sweet Moses, Ford. Let 'im finish!"

"Dipper and Mabel came to the dump with a spooky lookin' book. Somehow they got ahold of one of my computermajigs, an' they thought that I was the feller what done wrote them journals."

"One of your laptops used to be down here, the kids probably got their hands on it when they came down looking for me." Ford added, hoping to add a little clarity to the situation.

"That's what them kids were sayin'. I'd done told 'em that I wasn't the guy they were lookin' fer, and somehow the Society of the Blind Eye came up. I'd been spooked, I tell ya, and the kids wanted to get to the bottom of it. We wound up in some real danger; those kids, an' Soos n' Wendy, they almost got roughed up by that darn cult. I pro'lly shouldn't've let 'em tag along, but I wanted to know what'd happened to me, even if it was bad. I've been gettin' memories back left n' right ever since, thanks to those kids. But somthin' wasn't piecing together right. I was sure, er, Stanley, was it? Was the one who'd up and reactivated the portal. But somethin' was tuggin' at the back of my mind, saying 'the feller who runs the Mystery Shack ain't the same feller what wrote them journals.' But I was so sure that Stanford Pines was the author. I suppose I wasn't entirely wrong. But what in tarnation possessed you to switch places like that?" Fiddleford was pacing back and forth, tugging at the brim of his worn out hat. "Anywho, the end times' a comin', so I've been holed up in here ever since the portal was done reactivated."

Stanford couldn't believe this tale, that his once brilliant partner had driven himself to madness, or that Stanford himself had driven Fiddleford there. It hurt Stanford just to look at McGucket. Of course, he'd known that Fiddleford had invented a machine to erase bad memories. He'd been there when Fiddleford erased his memory of 'Stanford Pines,' for good. But total amnesia? That he hadn't been prepared for.

"Well, seems like you've already got the gist of it. But, uh, I'll fill ya in on the rest, okay?" Stanley said, taking in a deep breath. "... 'Bout thirty years ago I get this postcard from Ford. Wanting me to come help him out with something. So of course, I go. Why the hell wouldn't I? Turns out, he needs me to hide one of his spooky journals so his dumb machine doesn't tear a hole in reality. One thing led to another, and Stanford fell through the portal… It was my fault I'd lost him, and I swore I'd do whatever it took to get him back. I'd been working on that machine for a few weeks, 'til I ran out of food and had to start up the Mystery Shack. Under Stanford's name, of course. People'd wonder what happened to Ford, it was easier to just let the old me die." Ford winced at his brother's wording, but Stanley continued. "Then one day, while business is slow, this old disheveled guy comes walking through the door. Said I was selling the devil's wares and that he couldn't allow me to corrupt the minds of the townsfolk. Real nerd, if you ask me. Called himself Fiddleford McGucket. Said he'd known me, er, Stanford, for years but he'd never thought I'd stoop this low. I tried to calm you down, but the second I tried to touch you, you jumped five feet in the air and aimed a gun with a fucking light bulb on the front at me. I almost laughed, but then you said that whatever I was, I wasn't the Stanford Pines you'd worked with the past year. And of course, I got my fucking hopes up. I asked if you knew about the portal, how to work it. I told you what'd happened to the real Stanford, and explained that I was his twin brother, Stanley. I asked if you'd help me rebuild Stanford's dumb machine. And you said no." Stanley paused, trying to figure out how to tell the next part of his story. "You said the other side of that machine was something like hell itself, and that you couldn't live with yourself knowing it would be reopened someday. You told me you made some kinda secret society for the express purpose of helping people get rid of their bad memories of the supernatural. You also said that no matter what happens, to not tell anyone that I knew about paranormal bullshit, and to not go around acting like I knew you. The next day I'm reading in the paper about how Fiddleford McGucket went totally nuts. Is that ringin' any bells for you?"

"I suppose, though right now it's your word against mine." Fiddleford said. "Yer brother bein' trapped in some kinda hellish nightmare realm for thirty years sounds like a pretty solid reason to cause the apocalypse. It's stupid and I can't believe you actually went through with it, but it's a solid enough reason. Listen, fellers, I'm sure Stanford's already told ya, but the end times are a comin'. There's a bed closer to the surface, and enough beans and rice to last us an' the kids a few decades. We might as well start hunkerin' down." Fiddleford said.

"McGucket, there is no 'end times' coming. It's been a good two weeks since that portal opened up, and we're all fine. Ford even set up a sci-fi nerd trap to keep whatever it is that's been giving him trouble away from the shack. You don't have to lock yourself down here with that creepy shapeshifter. Everything up there is just as normal as it always is." Stanley used the term 'normal' looseley.

"Stanley's right, Fiddleford. Right now, the safest place would be back at the house. Where there's real food and more than one bed." Ford said, his voice cracking a little. Up until now he'd stayed quiet, unable to think of anything he could say, anything he could do to help his friend. "...Fiddleford, what happened to you was _my_ fault, and I'm so _sorry_. I-If it's safety you're worried about, you're more than welcome to come up to the Shack anytime you want. And if things get really bad, the bunker will still be here." Ford tentatively reached out to his friend, grasping his shoulder only when he was certain that Fiddleford was unafraid. "The only reason there was even a portal to be activated in the first place was because I didn't listen to you when I had the chance. Please, let me make it up to you, somehow." A lightbulb went off in Ford's head. "I can help you get back your memories! I have a machine for that express purpose! It's… broken now, but I can fix it in a few days! Please, Fiddleford…" Stanford took Fiddleford's casted hand in his own, his eyes pleaded for Fiddleford to remember what they once had. Stanford laced his six fingers with Fiddleford's boney ones and gave a gentle squeeze.

"...Well… I do believe I'm startin' to recall ya, Stanford. Well, the Stanford that is actually _you_ , that is. But I couldn't possibly… I don't have nothin' to offer you in return-"

"You don't have to worry about giving us anything, alright? The kids love you, and we have plenty of space. Maybe take a bath or something while you're here." Stanley suggested, trying to have some tact.

"But I- Woah!" Fiddleford tried to protest, but was cut short by Stanley lifting him up by his overalls again.

"Yeesh, you southern types are stubborn about manners. Look, take it from me, worrying about paying people back is only gonna bite you in the butt. Living in the same room as that creepy shapeshifter's got you paranoid enough. At least stay at the Shack until we can get this whole thing sorted out, alright?" Stanley paused, tucking the small man under his arm. "You're really light, like lifting a baby goat, you know that?"

"Stanley! You can't just kidnap him!" Stanford said, scrambling to his feet.

"Too late! I've made my decision. It's late, and I don't feel like staying out any longer than I have to." Stanley said, walking towards the exit. "Now, how's about you let us out of this dump so I can get some shut eye?" Ford simply stared at the sight before him, dumbfounded.

Stanley practically threw McGucket over his shoulder, alarmed at how much he was lighter than Dipper and Mabel, he didn't even pop anything. "Well, Ford? Lead the way! McGucket, is there anything you need to take with ya?"

"Well, my raccoon wife done skedaddled a few days ago, but I should probably grab the laptop. It should be over in that box yonder." Fiddleford said, adjusting the brim of his hat so it wouldn't fall.

"I'll grab it and we can head home," Ford said, rummaging through the crate Fiddleford had mentioned and grabbing the laptop. "Wait...Did you say _raccoon wife_?"

"Diane, right? Or was it Racoonifer? I'm tellin ya, Ford, She's quite the looker" Stanley teased, not realizing just how messed up crazy old man McGucket was compared to his former brilliant self. "At least a raccoon is an actual living thing. I got married to a mechanical prospecter (that may or may not be secretly alive) in Las Vegas."

"...Wait, did you do that under _my name_ , or _yours_?" Ford asked, pulling a lever to raise the panels in the security room so they could leave.

"Don't worry, the marriage got annulled. I think." Stanley said, stepping through the vault, carefully eyeing the strange symbols on the walls.

McGucket held onto Stanley like a small child getting a piggyback ride. He trembled a little as they approached the real world; the forest at night was one hell of a place to be. "An' yer sure this is alright? I don' mind stayin' in the bunker none."

"Fiddleford, frankly, I'm more concerned about the _raccoon wife_." Stanford said, still cross.

"Oh, hush now. We only got hitched fer the tax benefits. Her leavin' don' bother me none. Taxes might not even matter soon anyways."

"...I shouldn't have that marriage certificate annulled. Tax benefits why didn't I think of that?" Stan said, crunching numbers in his head to work out exactly how much money he could have saved, if he'd actually ever paid his taxes. Stanley's calculations took up a good amount of their walk back to the Mystery Shack. Thankfully, they had only been out a half hour or so, leaving Stanley with plenty of time to get his beauty rest.

"Soos!" Stanley said, banging on the front door. "It's us, can you let us in?"

"I don't know, dude, how many of there are you?" Soos' voice carried through the heavy oak, and Stanley caught a glimpse of his employee's hat from the other side of the window.

"It's me, Stanley, and Fiddleford McGucket. We found him in the bunker, he's my old college friend. The shapeshifter is secure, Soos." Stanford said. He stepped back as he heard the sound of the deadbolt unlocking. He didn't have time to brace himself as a broom smacked himself in the face.

"Kill it! Kill it with fire!" Soos yelled, having done the impossible and caught Ford by surprise. "Mr. Pines said not to let anyone in unless it was just him and the other Mr. Pines!" Ford's fight or flight response kicked in then, and he grabbed the broom, using his knee to snap it in two. He twirled one piece of the broken broom around in his left hand, and tried using the splintered end as a chiv.

"Soos! Calm down, it's us, no one is the shapeshifter!" Stanley cried, trying his best to wedge himself between the two. "Ford, relax he's just doing what I told him!" Stanley regretted not wording that better, because that sentence earned him a panic-induced punch in the face from Ford, hard enough to send him flat on his butt. Meanwhile, Fiddleford had scuttled up to the awning above the porch, a safe distance from all the fighting.

Soos scrambled for some other sort of weapon **.** He settled for he screwdriver in his pocket, and his fists. He pointed the flathead screwdriver towards Stanley's neck, whom he had pinned on the ground and whose ribs were nearly buckling under the pressure of the handyman's knee, and used his other arm to lock a struggling Ford in a chokehold. "You have to prove it! Mr. Pines, what did the birthday card I gave you last year say?!"

"Soos, drop Ford. The more panicked he gets the more of an itchy trigger finger he'll have when he gets free!" Stanley yelled, eyeing the rifle strapped to Ford's back. With Ford, it was never a matter of 'if' in a fight. Not anymore.

"That doesn't sound like something Hallmark would write, dude." Soos said, pressing the screwdriver harder into his neck. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he struggled against Ford's superior fighting skills, and he winced when Ford tried to elbow him in the stomach hard enough to get away.

"It was a puppy dog saying 'Happy Bark Day!' And you wrote, 'Happy old guy birthday, Love, Soos!' Now let him go!" Soos' response was immediate, and Ford practically vaulted away from the man, gasping for breath, immediately reaching for his gun. He'd almost taken aim at Soos, before he managed to calm himself down enough to simply drop the weapon and hurry inside, making sure to grab Fiddleford from the awning before he went in, earning a yelp from the old hillbilly. The screwdriver clattered against the wooden porch, and only the sound of the two men panting could be heard outside.

"Sorry, Mr. Pines," Soos said once he caught his breath.

"Don't be, you were doing your job. But do me a favor? In the future, if you see something that looks like Ford? Play it safe and don't try to fight it. He's not quite as good as me, but something in his brain won't let him remember when to pull his punches. And that's a dangerous kind of guy to pick a fight with." Stanley said, pushing himself up. Soos still seemed a little disappointed, afraid he had done the wrong thing. Stanley gave Soos an affectionate pat on the shoulder and said simply, "You did good, Soos. Thanks. I can always count on you to protect those kids."

Soos smiled with his goofy buck teeth and picked up the mess he made, collecting the shards of broom handle, despite the splinters. "Do you need me to stay, Mr. Pines? I can get this all cleaned up in no time."

"Nah, it's getting late, you goofball." Stan paused. "I'm already adding the past half hour to your pay, don't push it." He said. Ten years of not letting Soos get too close had taken their toll, but after everything that had happened this summer, Stanley was convinced that Soos knew that he meant no harm whenever Stan tried to push him away.

Soos gave Stan a salute, nearly missing his eye, and walked back inside to fetch the keys to his old pickup truck, "Whatever you say, !" Soos knew well that Stan wasn't a man who liked to get emotional, but Soos did his best to be there for Stan in any way he could, to show his appreciation for the old man doing the same since he was a kid. Soos checked up on the kids one last time before returning outside, waving to Stan, and driving away. Stanley stayed out on the front porch until he could no longer see the taillights of Soos' beat up truck. Giving a faint smile, he turned around and finally went back inside, being sure to lock the door behind him. On his way back to his room, however, he did take note of one thing. It seemed like Soos did a little cleaning while he was there, the living room looks spotless, and the kitchen too. _Eh, maybe I'll give him the full hour extra this week. With all he's done around here, the kid deserves it._

Stanley yawned, his old age had really taken the party animal out of him, and dragged himself to the linen closet to grab a blanket for McGucket, who was already curled up on the couch in the living room. Knowing Ford, the only reason his old pal wasn't sleeping in a proper bed was because Stanford was too freaked out to argue. Once their houseguest had been taken care of, Stanley crept towards his bedroom to disrobe and prepare for bed. On the way there, Stanley stopped by the 'spare' room that Stanford had taken as his bedroom, just to make sure he wasn't still freaking out about the encounter with Soos. _Bingo,_ Stanley thought to himself as he saw his brother's slumped form on the couch. The dark room was silent, save for Ford's labored breathing.

"...Stanford?" Stanley asked quietly, not wanting to startle his estranged brother.

"Is Soos alright?" Ford asked curtly. He had his own method of dealing with things, and adding new people to talk to wasn't a part of how he coped, but he had to make sure.

"He's fine. You didn't hurt him. Bruised him, maybe, but nothing permanent."

"Are you alright, Stanley?" Ford asked, trying to remind himself that he was in Gravity Falls, not some far off and dangerous new world.

"M'fine, your punches didn't hurt as much this time around. You're really off your game." Stanley joked, slowly taking a step closer. He could barely make out Ford's shaking hands clutching his knees.

"Please, just leave me alone, Stan." Stan stiffened, it broke his heart to see his brother like this, but it had been so long. He let out a noncommittal grunt, and slowly turned to leave.

"...Alright. Good night, Sixer." Stan left his brother to brood, knowing a little bit of rest would bring him back to... Not exactly normal, but better. He didn't quite catch the quiet ' _please don't call me that'_ that escaped Ford's lips.


	2. Cold Nights, Warm Hands

6-15-18-4'19 2-5-5-14 20-15 13-1-18-2-21-18-25

"Will you stop tryin' to cook for all of us? I'm the only one in this house that knows what the kids will actually eat, and I can guarantee you it's not eggs and _brains._ " Stanley said, growing impatient with Fiddleford, who was busy cracking eggs into a bowl. Fiddleford had already made a mess of quite a few pans, and was attempting to make omelets, but they were turning out like questionably scrambled eggs. The light of the sunrise had just barely begun to peek into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Ford was in his room, wishing the metal plate in his head did anything for nightmares.

 _Ford was running as fast as his feet could carry him. He felt the crunch of dead flies underneath his boots, smelt their blood as it oozed out of their cracked exoskeletons. Heart pounding in his chest, the dark scaly creatures behind him were gaining ground. He was younger, more frightened, and the creatures were just dying to sink their teeth into his flesh. Dear God, Stanford could already smell it rotting away, like fishbones, forgotten once the monsters had their fill._

 _ **Squish.**_

 _His foot sunk further into the ground that time, breaching the shells of the dead flies and coming up with the maggots from underneath._

 _ **Squish.**_

 _It happened again. The ground itself seemed to writhe and twitch, aiming to swallow him whole. His head throbbed, and he felt blood dribble down his cheek. Something wasn't right, he should be lucid by now, he should be waking up_ _ **something's in here with him**_ _._

"I'll cook for ya, it's the least I could do for lettin' me stay here." McGucket said simply. "And, 'sides, you don't have any chicken brains for me to cook with, so you don' haf'ta worry 'bout them kiddos turnin' up their noses." The morning sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, and Stanley was ready to strangle the southerner in front of him.

"Listen, pal, I'm the only one who cooks around here, it's my house!" Stanley paused, furrowing his brow. "Well, it's Stanford's house technically, but I pay the bills around here so it might as well be mine!"

 _Eyes, eyes, too many eyes, watching him, tracking him from every direction_ _ **he knows where you are, he can see you, control you like the filthy puppet you are-**_

" _Get out of here! Leave me alone!" Six fingered hands tore at the scars on his scalp, still healing, he was dreaming he was supposed to be older, wake up wake up_ _ **wake up**_ _. He clenched his fists harder, trying to regain control of his dreams._ _ **Six fingered freak chop them off chop them off chop them off.**_ _His feet were still falling, growing roots among the maggots, sinking in the filth. Why wasn't anything working he should have complete control he_ _ **needed complete control.**_

"Sweet sarsaparilla!" Fiddleford screamed, grasping for the fire extinguisher. "Who keeps somethin' this _flammable_ in their kitchen?!" He pulled the pin, aiming for the pan on the stove that Stanley was trying to smother with a potholder.

"It's alcohol, for taxidermy, I forgot I'd put it there, I'm sorry okay! Just help me!" Stanley shouted, giving up on the potholder and filling a cup with water from the sink, hoping to put it out the old fashioned way.

 _Something was burning, he could hear voices, whose voices? Was it Stan? Oh god it was Stan he was here he can't be here. No, something's not right Stan was back in Gravity Falls, the timeline's all wrong,_ _ **you're dreaming**_ **,** _wake up wake up wake up._

 _ **Thunk.**_

 _His feet fell through the sea of dead flies and maggots and Ford came tumbling towards the ground face first. Ford put his hands in front of his face as the rest of his body sunk below the churning sea of fly corpses._

Fiddleford hollered at the top of his lungs as he finally got the darned fire contraption to work, spraying white foam all over the Pines' kitchen, making an utter mess of his 'breakfast'.

 _His hands had sunk deep into someone's ribcage. He could feel the bones crunching beneath his weight, bits of organs oozing through the spaces between his fingers. He couldn't bring himself to try and identify the corpse. He knew it would be something horrible, someone he knew, it could be Stan. It was usually Stan. You're dreaming. Ford began to convulse, his ears were deafened by the sounds of the infinite multiverse, and bits of the corpse's skin were rotting right off the bone and melting away, and he was falling again, and you killed him, you killed them,_ _ **you'll kill them all one day. Your world will burn, and you will watch it burn, and then you will burn too.**_

 _Stars. The first thing he registered was the stars. Giant, swirling, too bright, too_ _ **big, and you're so small.**_ _Oh no, he was_ _ **here**_ _again, he recognized the ancient scrolls and texts, but no that's impossible it's just a dream it can't be the mindscape, he can't be here, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real. He's going to control you again, he's going to take advantage of you again, violate your trust and your soul, you've got to wake up! You filthy pathetic insignificant- you deserve this, you deserve this, you deserve this. Winds carrying noxious fumes roared in the space around him, and he felt the flesh strip from his bones as he dissolved into nothing, and there was nothing, and he was nothing. The weight of the universe was on his shoulders, and the weight of the universe_ _ **was delighted to tear him apart, rip him to shreds, destroy him, destroy him, destroy him.**_

 _ **Well, well, well, well, well, well.**_

 _ **Let me go, let me go, let me go.**_

Dipper and Mabel rushed down from their attic, the sounds of panic woke them from their peaceful dreams. Mabel came armed, her crossbow in one hand, and her brother his behind her.

"Grunkle stan! What the heck is going on?!" Dipper squeaked.

Fiddleford was covered in the extinguisher foam, and his form was hard to make out. Mabel pointed her weapon in the foamy guy's direction. "Is this some sort of breakfast monster?! GET AWAY FROM MY GRUNKLE, I'LL SHOOT!"

 _ **Mabel.**_

 _Mabel wasn't born yet Mabel didn't exist, the scars had healed, he was old, he was back in Gravity Falls, this wasn't real, this was a dream, wake up, wake up,_ _ **wake**_ _ **up!**_

Ford's eyes flew open and he scrambled to get off of the couch. He was hyperventilating, badly, his knees felt like jelly and he felt like he was going to pass out again, but he'd been lucid enough during his nightmare to work out that he was awake now, that Bill Cipher hadn't gotten through to this world, and that no one was in danger. He clutched his trench coat closed around him, steadied himself against the arm of the couch, reminded himself to do something nice for Mabel later that day, and took a deep breath.

Something was burning. Hadn't Mabel screamed?

 _Shit._

By the time Ford followed his nose to the source of the burning, the danger seemed to have disappeared. There was foamy, smoky, disgusting mess on the stove, and both of the twins were laughing at Old Man McGucket, who looked like he was all beard and foam. Dipper threw a towel to McGucket to help him clean up, and Mabel had lowered her crossbow to console her frightened pet pig who was squealing with anxiety from all of the commotion. Dipper piped up, taking in all of the mess, "Grunkle Stan, can we go to the diner for breakfast?"

Stan, however, wasn't paying attention to Dipper. For once. He wasn't even paying attention to getting the extinguisher foam off the stove before it got into the pipes and made even more of a mess. No, he'd heard Ford's boots from across the hall, and looked up just in time to take in his brother's disheveled appearance. His hair was sticking up more than usual, his trench coat was matted and wrinkled on one side, the bags under his eyes were worse than usual, and his trembling hands were not lost on Stanley. The closer the end of summer got, the less worried about social situations Stanford got, but a cursory glance at the man told Stanley that Ford likely wouldn't be setting foot outside the Shack today. And he wasn't the only one to notice.

"Grunkle Ford, you look awfully sleepy! We didn't mean to wake you up!" Mabel's sweet voice filled the now quiet kitchen, and she slowly approached him. "It was just a little kitchen fire, you can go back to bed if you want, everything's okay! We just need to give breakfast another try." Mabel was like a little glittering ray of sunshine amidst the chaotic kitchen, pink pig slippers squeaking against the floor as she grabbed Ford's hand to lead him back to his room. And suddenly Ford was on his knees, hugging Mabel for dear life. He didn't say anything, he couldn't spell out the horrors he'd witnessed to this little girl, but he hoped the message got through.

Although Mabel's Grunkle Ford was a little smelly (like sweat and old people) from a restless night, she hugged back with all her might, her tiny hands patting him on the back. She's had bad dreams quite a few times this summer, and though they weren't this terrifying, she could tell her uncle had a pretty bad night.

"Alright, kids, looks like a home cooked breakfast is a no go…" Stan said, digging through one of the drawers in the kitchen. "So how's about we just order pizza instead? Have it delivered, so we can clean up this mess." Stanley held up a flyer for a local pizza shop, complete with a coupon that he'd have to change the expiration date on if he wanted to use.

Mabel pulled away from her Grunkle and gave him one last pat on the shoulder. "What do you say, Grunkle Ford? It's never too early for pizza!"

Dipper joined in, giving Ford a soft little bro-punch on the arm. "I second that!"

"Kids, I have spent the past thirty years eating whatever vaguely non poisonous _thing_ I could get my hands on. Pizza sounds _delicious._ " Ford said, giving the kids a little smile.

Fiddleford stood in the corner of the kitchen, his head hung in embarrassment. Stanley might have set the fire, but he'd been the one to make a mess. It was bad enough he was burdening the Pines by sleeping in their living room, but messing up their kitchen too made McGucket feel terrible. His memories came to him in miniscule pieces, and having someone he remembered respecting so highly see him in this condition was downright shameful.

"Hey, thanks for getting that. Uh, let's just say I've got bad luck with fire." Stanley said, placing a meaty hand across Fiddleford's shoulders. "Pizza sound alright to you?" When Fiddleford didn't respond, Stanley said in a softer voice, praying that Ford wouldn't hear, "Ford looks like he had a rough night, we probably won't be able to get him to leave the Shack. If you want something else, I'll find something else, but…"

"No, no, don't y'all be worrin' 'bout me! I done stashed a couple'a cans of beans for just this sitch'i'ation." Fiddleford pulled a dented and very old can of Colonel Num Nums Brand Baked Beans from his loose overalls pocket. "I'll throw these over a fire and get to cleanin up this here mess, you folks enjoy your pizzer!"

"Fiddleford, take it from a guy who's been living in the wilderness for a few decades, you've gotta get some variety in your diet. You can't eat nothing but baked beans all the time. Even if they are the best brand on the market." Ford said, remembering the taste of the beans fondly. Given the age of the can, the beans were likely the only food from before Ford went through the portal that still tasted the same.

Something about the way Ford said that made a scene flash through Fiddleford's mind like lightning, _A cold night in the bunker, you're sharing a tiny cot and a pillowy quilt with an intelligent and striking young man. A can or two of those beans litter the floor. He laughs with you, a booming and hearty chuckle. The record is skipping and you don't 're shivering, but his big hands are welcoming and warm, his doe eyes are absolutely deep and dreamy, not to mention his lips..._ The old hillbilly stared into space for a while before shaking his head and smiling a nearly toothless smile, "I guess yer right...Stanford?" He's not too sure of this man's name yet, but he feels close.

"Alright, we're getting two pepperoni pizzas. No extra toppings, no stuffed crust. I'm not made of money." Stan said, walking to the living room to get to the phone. Mabel was glancing between Fiddleford and Stanford, before her eyes opened wide and she grabbed Dipper's wrist.

"Well, Dippin' Dots and I should go brush our teeth! Dental care is important!" She practically screamed as she pulled Dipper up the stairs, leaving the two scientists alone.

Fiddleford was practically against a wall, still staring up at this ridiculously handsome old man in front of him. "Remind me, Stanford...how do I know ya?" His twangy voice almost whispered, feeling flustered and a little confused.

Stanford's heart was on the verge of breaking. That morning's events had already bled him dry, and now his former research assistant, his college buddy, his old flame, was a completely different person. Were the things Fiddleford witnessed really worth all of the self inflicted damage? Worse, had the effects really been the result of trying to erase _Ford_ from his memories? Ford made a mental note to get to work on fixing his memory restoring device ASAP. "You and I attended Backupsmore University together, and you helped me with my research endeavors many years ago. It'll all come back to you soon, I promise you." He chose to leave out the fact that Fiddleford had been his only friend for years, that he'd been the only good thing about Backupsmore University, that the reason Fiddleford was like this now was definitely, directly Ford's fault, and that once Fiddleford got his memories back he'd likely want nothing to do with Ford. As convinced as he was that he'd only be a toxic influence in Fiddleford's life, Ford also knew that he was the only one able to really help him. With this dimension's two smartest minds lost in other worlds and drowned by madness, technology hadn't exactly made the leaps and bounds Ford had expected to find when he stepped through the portal. The broken mind scanning device was Fiddleford's only hope.

Fiddleford looked pretty happy to hear that he attended college. Sometimes the poor guy didn't feel too smart, not too many people took him seriously. A brilliant mind still resided in McGuckets head, but he got no recognition for it. "Well, I reckon you an' I are pretty smart fellas. Maybe you _can_ help me fix this here ol noggin, I've been workin real hard, but sometimes I get stuck." He'd watched the vial of memories form the Society of the Blind Eye multiple times, and Dipper gave McGucket the memory gun back, but only once he'd promised to try and reverse its effects.

Slowly, like walking on eggshells, Ford moved closer to his old friend. "We'll get through this, together." He said, quietly. "You're brilliant, and I don't think that part of you went away. Soon you'll have all your memories back." _And then you'll want to forget about me._ The wheels in Ford's brain were turning, a mile a minute, replaying last night's events, trying to work out a solution. "Wait, where did you sleep last night, Fidds-Fiddleford?" He knew he'd been the one to bring Fiddleford in, but in his panic he'd forgotten to actually find his friend a bed.

"Yer lookalike let me borrow that squishy couch over yonder, I slept like a baby! I could really get used to that fancy sleepin' arrangement." Fiddleford said, gesturing towards the living room, where Stanley was trying to haggle with the clerk on the other end of the phone line.

"What kind of hack charges two bucks for a few pieces of pepperoni?! Yeah? Well you're a bigger one!"

Guilt crept up Ford's throat, thick and slimy; Fiddleford shouldn't have had to sleep on the small couch in the living room last night. What had Stan been thinking? What had _Ford_ been thinking? "There's another couch in the spare room. It's not exactly a bed, the only spare beds are being used by the twins, but it's better than that old thing in the living room. It's bigger, too. You can have a room all to yourself and sleeping there isn't too bad." Ford said, a little too quickly. _You'll sleep fine as long as you're not me_. "There's already a blanket and pillow in there, please I can't make you sleep down in the living room."

Fiddleford shook his head and looked down at his beard. "Oh, you hush now. I don' mind none. 'Sides, where will you sleep if I'm on yer other couch? You look a lil too tall to be sleepin' on that ol' thing yonder." Fiddleford said, tugging at the bandage on his arm.

"I'll just sleep on the floor or something down in the basement. It'll be fine, I promise." Ford said.

Upstairs, Mabel and Dipper hid in the bathroom, brushing their teeth. "Mabel, don't you think 5 minutes of brushing is enough? My gums hurt." Dipper said through a minty froth. "What's going on?"

"Dipper, are you really that blind? Romance is afoot! Did you see they way Old Man Mcgucket looked at Grunkle Ford?! And the way Grunkle Ford was looking at him?! They totally had a _thing!_ "

"Uh, no? Look, Mabel, even if they did have a thing, McGucket forgot all about it. He completely erased Ford from his memory, people don't just do that for no reason. People break up, Mabel, and it's probably better if Ford and McGucket _stay_ broken up." Dipper said.

"But Dipper, It's so tragic, so romantic! Maybe if McGucket gets his memories back, they'll fall in love all over again! WE COULD HAVE THREE GRUNKLES! I COULD BE A FLOWER GIRL, DIPPER." Mabel exclaimed, flinging toothpaste onto the mirror. It was quite easy for Mabel to get carried away. She was quite the sucker for sappy romance, and in the end, she wanted her Great Uncle Ford to be happy.

"Look, Mabel… Um…" Dipper started, putting his toothbrush away, a little thankful that Mabel wasn't forcing him to keep brushing anymore. "I think if they did have something… then McGucket left because of Ford's secret history with Bill."

"You… actually got him to tell you? And you didn't tell _me?_ " Mabel asked, shocked and a little hurt.

"I didn't tell you because it's… really personal. The only reason Grunkle Ford even told me was because I thought he was _possessed_. He started walking towards me a-and I don't know what came over me. I felt like I was _dying_ , and all I could think of was watching you fall from that cake prop. I almost erased Ford's memory!" Dipper was shaking a little, tugging at his vest. "Ford told me about his past with Bill, it's just like we thought. They used to be friends and then something happened. But I don't wanna tell you until _Ford's_ ready to, okay? It's… It's not good, Mabel."

Mabel nodded, a little disappointed, and definitely worried. "Oh man...that's really heavy. Dipper, do you think he is going to be okay? He looked so scared this morning. I think he's been having crazy nightmares, or _something_. I don't know how to make him feel better, I've already gone through all of my science themed stickers!"

"I think it's another one of those things that goes beyond anything we know how to fix." Dipper said. "And even if we could fix it, there's not a lot of summer left. We should probably just leave them be."

Mabel spit out her toothpaste and rinsed. "I guess you're right, but I'm still rooting for the two of them." Mabel placed her toothbrush in its little holster. "Now, go away, I have a business meeting with Mr. Porcelain, you're not gonna want to stick around for that. Trust me." Mabel pushed her brother out of the bathroom while laughing at her own joke.

"Dipper! Can you come down here for a second?" Stanley's voice boomed through the house, making Dipper jump a little bit. He straightened his hat and walked down the stairs, being careful to skip over the broken one.

"Yes, Grunkle Stan?" Dipper said once he got to the living room. Stanley was leaning against the dinosaur head turned nightstand, folding the blanket that Fiddleford had used last night.

"Kid, I need you to show McGucket around. Go ahead and tell him about the basement, just make sure to let him know to not go down there unless Ford's down there. I'm gonna go see what I can do about the stove before the pizza gets here." Stan said, scratching his ear. "Oh, and will ya put this up in wherever McGucket is staying? He slept in the living room last night but that'll probably change." Stan tossed the blanket at Dipper's head.

"Um, okay, but… Why is McGucket staying here? Did something happen?" Dipper asked, just barely catching the blanket before it hit the ground.

"He was squatting down in that bunker, and Ford and I aren't going to make him stay there. Please, just do this for your old Grunkle." Stan said, rubbing his temples. Dipper gave a little nod.

"Okay, Grunkle Stan. I'll take care of it." Dipper said, heading into the kitchen to get McGucket.

Mabel came down stairs in one of her favorite sweater creations: miles of rainbow yarn had been sacrificed when she made it. "What's going on, family? What's the plan for the day?"

"How's about you go figure out a room for McGucket to stay in, while we wait for the pizza to get here?" Stan said. "I'll call you when it gets here, don't worry." Dipper walked back through the living room, Fiddleford in tow, ready to grab Mabel and get started.

"We're on it, Grunkle Stan!" Mabel replied cheerfully and dragged Dipper by his hand, who was dragging Fiddleford, through the house. "Alright, if we're having a houseguest, we have to make him feel welcome! Were going to need fluffy towels and complimentary pillow mints, STAT!"

"Well I do appreciate it, kids," Fiddleford said, being tugged along as fast as his old knees would allow. "But, really, I'm fine just a'stayin' in the-"

"No time to argue, Mr. Old Man McGucket!" Mabel decreed, pointing her finger in the air. She said something else, something about calling Soos, but Stanley was no longer paying attention. He was headed back towards the kitchen, hoping to catch Ford before he holed himself up down in the basement all day.

"Stanford? You doin' alright there?" Stanley asked. Stanford had soaked a hand towel with water, and was trying to wash away the extinguisher foam.

"I'm sorry." Ford said, simply.

"Sorry for what exactly?" Stan could make a long list of things his brother should apologize for.

"About last night. I shouldn't have attacked Soos, I shouldn't have punched you, and I shouldn't have put you in danger by dragging you to the bunker. I should have just trusted Mabel when she said the shapeshifter was secure. The only good thing that happened last night was that I got to see Fiddleford again." Ford's hands clenched, pretending he was trying to get out a tough patch of foam. "You could've gotten hurt, and I should have been more careful. I'm sorry."

"Ford, you had to do what you had to do. I don't blame you for defending yourself, I know whatever you went through on the other side of that damn portal really messed you up." Stanley approached Ford slowly and gently placed his hand on Ford's shoulder, feeling the muscles beneath tense. "I know what it's like to come out of a bad situation with more shi- stuff to deal with than you had before. Few years ago? I would have done the same thing in your situation. I've had to do some pretty awful stuff to defend myself in the past. If it'd been you against the kids, that'd be another story, but I know Soos can handle himself, and I know _I_ can handle myself."

It was dangerous to rely on Stanley, to rely on anyone, Ford knew. But knowing that Stanley had even the faintest idea of what Ford was going through gave him a small comfort that he couldn't help but latch onto. "Did it ever get better for you? After it was over?" Ford's voice was barely above a whisper. He wouldn't have minded if Stanley hadn't heard the question at all.

"Yeah. I guess it did, in a way. I can't tell you I don't still get bad days. But it's not like how it used to be. I don't keep a duffel packed anymore, I know I'm not homeless and that I'm not going to become homeless again. And now I know I've got a family again, and lemme tell ya, that helps a lot. Havin' people who care about you. You just have to trust that people really do want what's best for you." Stanley tightened his grip when he could see Ford trembling.

Ford was silent. He couldn't think of anything to say that would suffice. Letting Stanley in was dangerous, and had only ever gotten him hurt. But what Stan was saying actually made him feel a little better. Hell, for all Ford knew, there was some sort of new phrase or gesture that was exactly what he needed to tell Stan that had been used in this dimension for decades, and was inaccessible to Ford simply because he'd missed it. What little he _did_ remember about the way society worked wasn't helping. So Ford just leaned in to Stanley's hand, remaining silent.

"So, I guess, apology accepted? Don't be afraid to punch harder next time." Stanley tried to chuckle, but it came out very forced. "And thanks for tryin' to clean up my mess."

Ford took a deep, shaky breath. "...Is Soos coming in today? I need to apologize to him as well."

"Yeah, he'll be here in about an hour. I'll let him know you wanna talk to him." Stanley wouldn't make his brother walk through the tourist filled gift shop to talk to Soos, the social anxiety would be almost as bad as pushing him through another portal. "Just make sure to stick around upstairs for a little while longer, okay?"

"I... I will." Ford sighed. "And Stan, about Fiddleford… When he gets his memories back, he's not going to want anything to do with me. I'm worried that he might do something drastic when that happens. I know I said I wanted you out of the house, but he seems to _like_ you. And you didn't ruin his life, so he'd listen to you. You don't have to stay if you don't want to, but when Fiddleford leaves, if _you're here too,_ then he might not get as self destructive as he did the last time. If it's just me… I don't know how I'd-" Ford sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can keep the Shack running if you want, I'll stay out of your hair. I'll likely be working on a way to restore Fiddleford's memories day and night, anyways. I know our relationship isn't what it used to be, but if you'd stick around, for Fiddleford's sake at least..."

"You want me to stay?" When Ford gave a curt nod, Stanley felt a wave of relief, followed by a wave of sadness. He'd hoped to be reunited with his brother in a way that didn't involve a third party. But knowing that Stanley had a purpose to stay here feels good. Of course he'd keep running the Shack, someone would have to make the money to keep this place up and running. "Of course I'm gonna stay. Someone is going to have to make sure the bills get paid and that you two old nerds actually eat."

Ford opened his mouth to thank Stanley, but was interrupted by the doorbell ringing, followed by a sharp knock.

"...Must be the pizza." Stan said,

When the pizza arrived, the kids crowded excitedly around Grunkle Stan, who paid for the pizza with hesitation. _Maybe if I take it and lock the door, we'll have free pizza...but the kids like that place, and I don't want to get banned from another restaurant they like. And lord knows the poor sap who got stuck delivering the damn things will get fired for it, or worse._ He handed over the cash and sighed as brought the pizza to the dining table, where the kids and McGucket chanted "PIZZA, PIZZA, PIZZA!" Ford stood off to the side, still shaken from the morning's events, but at least he seemed to be doing a little better. He was paying careful attention to how Stanley put the boxes on the table, and how the kids grabbed their slices, what size slice everyone got, what side they ate from, anything that would give him a clue so he wouldn't slip up and offend anyone. He hated feeling like a foreigner in his own home, but he couldn't always shake the feeling that he was missing something.

"Oh, good, you still eat it with your hands." Ford remarked, once everyone had taken their first bites.

Mabel laughed a little, until she realized he was serious. "Don't worry Grunkle Ford, I don't think pizza is ever going to change!" Mabel giggled as the cheese from the pizza stretched as far as she could get it to. Dipper ate a little more civilized, but still got a kick out of Mabel's sloppy behavior. Ford looked across the table to see McGucket taking small, almost unnoticeable bites, looking like it was his first time ever tasting pizza in his life. Stan only had one slice, leaving the rest for his family in order to go get dressed in his mystery shack getup.

The pizza was one of the best things Ford had tasted in a long time. It was the simpler things of this dimension Ford always found himself missing the most.

Stanley came back to the kitchen an hour before the shack officially opened, looking dapper as he'd ever be in his Mr. Mystery getup. He took a look and the mangled remains of the pizza and made a note to get a third pizza the next time. "Alright kids, who wants to help your poor old Grunkle Stan dust the gift shop before we open? Any takers?"

"Stan, I'll help you. Why don't you give the kids a little break this morning?" Ford said, crushing the pizza boxes so they'd fit in the trash can. "I need to talk to Soos before he clocks in, anyways," he added, in a much quieter voice.

Dipper and Mabel high fived, that's a solid hour of goofing off they had earned. "Thank you, Great Uncle Ford!"

"You kids can take that time to clean out the room McGucket is staying in, make it look nice for 'im." Stanley ordered, he won't let the kids get away with being unproductive. Teaching Dipper and Mabel the value of hard work this summer was something he prided himself on.

"Yay! We can give his room a _makeover_!" Mabel screamed, practically at the top of her lungs. "Mr. McGucket, can I measure you for a sweater?"

"You'll hafta catch me first!" McGucket cackled and ran out of the kitchen like a super powered rodent, the little guy was fast. Dipper sighed, adjusted his hat, and ran after them, hoping against hope that he'd be able to corral the two before anyone came by the shack.

Stanley called out, "DON'T BREAK ANYTHING!" And pinched the bridge of his nose. "Those kids are going to give me ulcers on my ulcers."

Ford gave a light chuckle, smiling a tad. "They're good kids. You, uh, you've done well, caring for them over the summer."

Stanley beamed with pride. "Darn right I have. I think I've redeemed myself for the time I killed our goldfish... May Young Goldie rest in peace."

"Good lord, you still remember that?" Ford asked, walking towards the gift shop and grabbing a duster.

Stan followed and unlocked his cash register to make sure last night's total correlated with what was left in the machine this morning. "Yeah I do, remember mom got mad at me for trying to sit Shiva in the bathroom after I flushed him? The little fish didn't get the respect he deserved." Stan laughed a little.

"What, are you afraid Young Goldie is going to come back to haunt you? Because fish don't leave ghosts behind. They're too small and insignificant." Ford said, surprised. He didn't peg Stanley for being very religious. Of course, neither was he, technically, though he still wouldn't mess around with a burial.

"Don't slander Goldie like that, he was very important fish!" Stanley said with a very straight face. He eyed Ford's dusting work. "Don't do a half assed job, I have a big busload of sucke-...tourists coming to the Shack today." Two things Stanley had gained over the last thirty odd years: an eye for detail and a fantastic work ethic.

Ford was caught by surprise. He had thought he was doing an okay job. Maybe it was another thing that had changed in the last thirty years, maybe he just wasn't doing it right. He didn't have a lot of time to try and work it out, though; Soos had pulled up the driveway and was walking up to the door, adjusting his hat.

"Good morning, Mr. Pines! And Science Mr. Pines!" He said, as if nothing was wrong. Soos was carrying a heavy cardboard box, held together by duct tape. Ford couldn't help but notice that the young man now walked with a slight limp on his left side, likely from a bruise on his midsection. He shuddered, knowing he'd been the one to do that.

Soos hummed to himself as he filled out his timecard at the register counter, and got right to work, setting the box down next to the cash register, and taking inventory from a clipboard. Stanley added an extra hour to the card once he was sure Soos wasn't looking.

"Soos?" Ford asked, quietly approaching the man. "I, uh, I wanted to apologize. For last night. I shouldn't have lashed out at you, and I shouldn't have grabbed my gun. I'm sorry. Are… Are you alright?"

Soos set his clipboard down to respectfully address Ford. "I'm okay, Mr. Pines. You sure can pack a punch, dude!" He laughed until he saw Ford wasn't laughing with him. "I mean, you were just acting in self defense, I totally came at you first. No worries. We're cool." Soos offered Ford a fist bump of solidarity.

"Soos, the average human body temperature is 98.6 degrees fahrenheit, but I do appreciate whatever slang term you're trying to use to communicate." Ford paused at the offered fist, before raising his own, mimicking Soos, but failing to actually make contact.

Soos sensed Stanford's confusion and slowly demonstrated a proper fistbump with himself. "It's like a new age cool guy handshake. You just...bump it. See?" Soos took Fords fist once more and made an explosion sound effect with his mouth.

"Sorry, I haven't been in this dimension in a while, do people always make explosion sounds when they do this?"

"Only the coolest of dudes do, dude." Soos said with absolute sincerity. He couldn't tell that Ford was pretty much lost at this point.

"...And a dude would be a male member of the species that has gained high social standing, correct?" Ford was wracking his brain for slang terms from back in the eighties, hoping that they still meant the same thing.

"Ladies can be dudes too, but you've pretty much got this down, Mr. Pines. You're officially a Dude." Soos mimicked crowning Stanford with a question mark baseball cap from a nearby shelf.

"...Thank you, Soos." Ford said.

"What on earth are you two doing over here?" Stan asked, pausing from counting the register.

"I'm a 'dude' now. Apparently." Ford said, puffing out his chest triumphantly. "I can pay for this." He said, noting Stan's annoyed glare.

Soos pulled out his wallet and grabbed a couple of bills. "This one's on me. Your official coming of Dude gift." At this, Ford's eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Stanley beat him to the punch.

"Just keep the damn thing." Stan said, waving his hand. "And get back to work!" He spun around on his heel, planning on going back behind the register, when his foot caught on the box and he nearly came tumbling down. "Soos, what the f-heck is in this box?!"

"Oh that? Mabel called and told me that Science Mr. Pines needed an air mattress for him and his scrawny old hillbilly boyfriend, so I grabbed one from the attic." Soos turned to Ford, "Is that gonna work? It's only got like, one hole, but I patched it up." Stanley nearly bust a gut laughing, picturing the small, gangly, Fiddleford next to his brother, who'd become a tower of a man, and had learned how to be intimidating as hell in the past thirty years. He could see it, but honestly at this point in their lives it wouldn't work out. Ford's face was beet red, with anger or embarrassment, he couldn't tell.

"F-Fiddleford and I are not now, _nor have we ever_ ,been romantically involved. We were _friends_ , he had a _wife_ and a _son_. I'm devoted to _science_. We're _not…_ Where did Mabel even- nevermind, just…" He paused to catch his breath before he flew into another panic. "Thank you, for the mattress, Soos. It's better than letting Fiddleford sleep on the couch." Christ, he'd have to talk to Mabel to try and gauge how much she knew. If this dimension was _anything_ like it had been back in 1982… Stanford couldn't face the ridicule.

"Yeesh, poindexter. You know how Mabel likes matchmaking. 'Sides, you two were good friends back in the day, she probably picked up on that and ran with it." Stanley said, sensing Ford's discomfort. If one of _Stan's_ old boyfriends had gone mad trying to forget him, he'd try to deny anything they'd had, too.

Ford scrunched his face, unsure of whether or not Stan's nonchalance meant he _knew_ and was fine with it, or that he thought Ford was straight and was trying to explain Mabel's actions. "I suppose. One of us will have to talk with her about spreading _rumors_ , though." Stan simply grunted, and went back to counting the register.

Soos dragged the box away from the counter, and closer to the entrance to the house. "Whatever you say, Mr. Pines, I'll have this set up for you before lunch today." When Soos passed Ford, he gave him a little smile. " _Don't worry dude, your secret is safe with me._ " He said, his voice just barely audible. Ford froze, unable to breathe, his face paling. So Soos _did_ know, and he was okay with it?

Christ, why'd he have to go off on Soos last night? He didn't have time to dwell on it. Soon the first tourist bus would pull up outside the shack, and Stanford would have to make his escape to the basement, where he'd finally feel safe.


	3. Mama Mia

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The last truly religious experience Stanley Pines remembered having was in 1975. The last religious experience he remembered _enjoying_ had been his and Stanford's bar mitzvah, back in 1966.

Once, after Stan had begun his life on the road, he'd stopped by a Baptist church luncheon, hoping for a meal. Everyone seemed nice enough, and they'd invited him to come back the next week. So he did. He was, of course, living out of his car at that point, but that didn't seem to matter as long as he showed up for church (though what he was really after was the meal). Being raised Jewish, it felt almost rebellious.

Of course, that arrangement went to shit when the Pastor's teenage daughter got caught in the shed out back with another girl one afternoon. Her father had been furious, dragging her out by her hair and threatening to kick her out of both the church and her house if she didn't repent. Stan punched out the pastor, and the poor girl traveled with him for a little while before they parted ways a few states away.

After spending six months in a Colombian jail cell, he'd grown more than a little homesick, and made his way to a nearby Synagogue. Service was nice, and it did remind him of home. Though, that turned out to be the problem. He'd gone to sleep only to find his dreams haunted by nightmarish versions of his family, though to be fair they weren't always too far off from the real thing.

Sometime after Carla broke up with him, and he'd attempted suicide by driving her new boyfriend's van into a ravine, Stan was approached by a cult. They wore their hair clean shaven and lured him in with promises of shelter, freedom, and sustenance. They'd promised he'd feel the light of god himself reaching out to him. He'd shaved his head and lived on their compound for three days before they held their first service of the week.

Stanley felt something reaching out to him, all right, and it sent chills up his spine and screamed at him to leave while he still could. He ran, and not more than three days after that he'd read in the newspaper that their so called 'religion of freedom' was little more than a prison, and three hundred fifty-two children and young adults had been assaulted and sacrificed by the blood crazed cultists. Soon after, he'd read that the government had firebombed the compound, killing the cultists, but also their would-be victims.

Stanley didn't cut his hair much after that.

After Stanford fell through the portal and into another world, Stanley begged. He pleaded. He was almost willing to make a deal with the devil himself if it meant he could get a sign that Stanford might be alive, though he would later get the sneaking suspicion that he'd been lucky not to get so desperate. Stanford had kept a journal cataloguing all his supernatural findings. The torn and disheveled book held information confirming the existence of unicorns, gnomes, faeries of every colour and variety, sirens, harpies, manotaurs, dryads, surely there had to be _something_ up there that would hear Stanley's pleas and spare Stanford his fate.

It wasn't long before Stan gave up hope for divine intervention, and decided that the only way he was getting Stanford back was through his own blood, sweat, and tears.

Stanford, however, was a different story. The Pines family had never been devout, but in his youth, Stanford had always found the prospect of a higher being comforting. Everything had a reason to be there, had been put there specifically by something omniscient and omnipotent. And who was Stanford, the 'six-fingered freak,' to question the will of God Himself?

When he hit that roadblock during his investigation of Gravity Falls, he had no idea how much he would later regret ever trusting the will of god.

Stanford's deal with Bill Cipher had been simple: Bill could move in and out of Ford's mind as he pleased, and in return, Bill would allow Ford access to science and technology _centuries_ beyond what anyone from his realm was capable of.

Stanford had practically worshiped the ground Bill Cipher walked on, drawing his image on nearly every available surface. He hadn't listened to Fiddleford's concern for his health when he began using his fountain pen to draw Bill's face onto his own skin, piercing his pale flesh with the nib. Ford was convinced that this was right, that this was good. And whenever Stanford found himself missing his family, missing Stanley, Bill Cipher had always been there to keep him focused, keep him grounded. He made sure Ford was _honored_ that such a powerful being would even take notice of him, much less choose Ford over the _billions_ of other minds to inspire. Bill reminded Ford that it had been his family _dragging him down_ all this time, and _don't you want to spend more time in the mindscape with me, Stanford?_ He made sure Ford knew that he had no one else to turn to, no one else he could _trust_.

When Stanford finally saw Bill for what he truly was, when Stanford finally saw just exactly where this supposed god's intentions lay? Bill Cipher showed no mercy. Stanford had managed to lock the door to the portal room and hide the key where Bill couldn't find it, but Bill Cipher still possessed him. Used his body like a puppet. Bill had bitten down on Ford's flesh so hard it bled. He'd thrown Stanford's body down the stairs. He'd made Ford's body do horrible, unspeakable things that left Ford scared and desperate.

So he'd sterilized a scalpel, shaved his head, sat down in front of the fold out mirror in his room, bit down on a towel, and installed a metal plate in his head.

Ford's luck with gods didn't change on the other side of the portal, either.

He'd met hundreds of them, ancient and terrible. Some were the size of planets, some were said to cause madness with just a glance. They'd warned him in eldritch tongues that his soul was tainted from his deal with Cipher, and that they would enjoy torturing it for all eternity.

Ford eventually lost count of the rituals he'd found himself the victim of, the list of gods that wanted his impure soul was far too long, and though Ford still knew that gods were real, he learnt quickly that they were horrifying and terrible, and to stay far away from their religious ceremonies.

The two of them had been apart for a lifetime, but they each understood the other's atheism and didn't question it.

Then, a week or two into September, after Dipper and Mabel had returned to California with their parents, the Grunkles received an invitation in the mail that made the two of them uneasy for their own good reasons.

 _"Join us as we celebrate Mabel and Maxwell 'Dipper' Pines' call to the Torah as Bat and Bar Mitzvah"_

The invitation was decorated in beautiful blue and silver, and held direction to the twins' ceremony, and joint party. The envelope had been painstakingly hand addressed by Dipper, and included a few stickers from Mabel.

And so, despite their reservations, Stanley and Stanford Pines found themselves squishing into Sherman and Alexandria Pines' van outside the bus station's parking lot, on their way to visit the kids. They were dreading the ride to the temple tomorrow, and reminding themselves that they were doing this for Dipper and Mabel, that Gravity Falls was only a Greyhound bus ride away, San Francisco wasn't that bad, and that Fiddleford and Soos were taking good care of The Mystery Shack while they were gone.

Dipper and Mabel's parents were ecstatic to reconnect with family. Figuring out that there were two Great Uncle Stans was a bit concerning, but after Dipper and Mabel pleading, and a few phone conversations between worried parents and estranged Grunkles, the Pines Parents decided that it was a splendid idea to have Dipper and Mabel's favorite relatives over. Sherman Pines Jr shared many of the handsome Pines family qualities; he'd inherited the Pines family strong chin, and for someone whom Stanley considered 'a bigger nerd that the world's nerdiest old man over here' he had to admit, Sherman looked like he knew how to throw a decent punch, and had a gruff but friendly voice. Alexandria was softer in contrast, almost petite, but a firecracker for sure. It was obvious that the twins would grow up to be good looking, and no doubt smart and successful in Sherman and Alexandria's hands.

"So, Stanford, where exactly were you the past thirty years?" Sherman asked, glancing in the rearview mirror. Stanford flinched, unsure of whether he should let on to them about the paranormal, about other worlds.

"Mabel told us you stepped out of some kind of, portal thing." Alexandria added running her fingers through her cropped brown hair, squinting into her compact mirror. Mabel, and even Dipper, inherited pretty features from their mother, her tiny button nose and her round cheeks were apparent on the twins, and made for some cute kids.

"Stanford has been _traveling_ the past thirty years; he researches the paranormal," Stanley saved Ford from having to explain his shady dealings with some shady beings.

"...That's okay, you don't have to tell us everything. Dipper warned us you might not want to talk about it." Sherman said. He wasn't quite skilled enough to catch Stanley in his lie, but he knew his daughter; he knew when she was lying, when she was letting her imagination get the best of her, and when she was telling the truth. Sherman Pines could tell that there was something he was missing. "I understand there was an earthquake in Gravity Falls last month?"

"Yes, but thankfully there was minimal damage to the Sh-...house, and nobody got hurt. It seems like it _shook_ the kids a little, but I think they moved on pretty quick." Stanley said, fidgeting with his shirt collar. Beads of sweat were cropping up on his forehead.

"Stanley." Ford asked, face buried in his hands, holding back a chuckle. This was supposed to be serious. "Why?"

"Stanford," Alexandria asked. "You study the paranormal? And Stanley's the one who runs a gift shop, right?"

"That's right! Though, I can't for the life of me figure out what _possessed_ Ford to go mess around with paranormal weirdness."

"Stanley! Not funny!" Ford said through clenched teeth.

Sherman tried his hardest not to cackle as he drove, a good Pines man can appreciate a pun, even if a bit forced. Ford, however, was not impressed. Stanley's nervousness was making his jokes hit a little too close to home.

"We thought you were dead for years, though, Stanley." Alexandria said, turning around in her seat to face her uncles-in-law.

"Well, dad mostly, we obviously never met you until now. He didn't say much about you, just that you left home in '72 and died in '83." Sherman said. "Why fake your own death?"

"He used to work for the government. Went up against some pretty bad people, and going by a new name wasn't working anymore. So I let him use mine from time to time. The criminals that were after him were recently arrested, though." Stanford said, a little too quickly, but the lie was at least serviceable.

Stanley was no doubt impressed with the lie, and hell, it made his life sound marginally more noble that it really was. "We were sworn to secrecy, I couldn't even tell my folks what had really happened. " _Not that I'd want to_ , Stanley thought to himself. "But, honestly, a fifty-eight year old man like me ain't gonna hold his own very well against those guys, it was better for everyone that I enter the witness protection program."

"Well, that's very brave of you, Stanley. Very admirable." Alexandria smiled back at the two Grunkles as they pulled up to their classic San Francisco home, tall and skinny and squished between their neighbors. Ford noticed the blinds were cracked a split second before they shut again, and Dipper and Mabel came running out of the house.

"Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!"

Mabel supplied party blowers to welcome Stan and Ford to their home, and was wearing a sweater with the Mystery Shack logo, hand stitched with love. Dipper was dressed for cooler weather, but was still sporting his pine tree cap. The Pines pulled into their garage, and the twins rushed in to greet the Grunkles properly with hugs.

"Dipper, what happened? You're gone for two weeks and now you've turned into a man!" Ford said, picking Dipper up.

Dipper laughed and held on tight to Ford. "Well, I guess that's actually tomorrow! Dipper Pines, official man." He said, puffing out his chest a little.

"Mabel! How's my favorite niece?" Stanley said, scooping her up onto his shoulders. "Still advertising The Mystery Shack, I see?"

"Of course, Grunkle Stan, I've told all of my friends about it! I'm your number one in the marketing department, and you know it!" Mabel giggled as she was lifted off of the ground. "We decorated your room! I hope someone likes _sparkles_! Oh, oh, oh, is Waddles doing okay?"

"Your pig is doing _great_ , sweetie." Stan said, beaming, and reaching into his back pocket. "And I brought pictures to prove it!" He added, handing Mabel a stack of photos of Waddles. "Ford loves your pet, he just won't admit it, so don't let him tell you otherwise, okay?" He said with a wink.

Sherman and Alexandria smiled at that sweet reunion. It warmed their hearts to see their children have such a good relationship with their distant family. Sending them to Gravity Falls for the summer was probably the best decision they had ever made for their twins.

"Alright, kids, let's get your great uncles inside, I'm sure they'd be more comfortable in there than in the garage." Sherman opened the door to inside the house and the twins each took a Grunkle by the hand and led him inside. Alexandria grabbed Stan and Ford's only piece of luggage, a worn out duffel bag that looked older than she was, and carried it in, refusing Stan's hand when he offered to carry it for her. The Pines house was cozy and tidy, the staircase banister had been decorated with streamers by Mabel, and there's a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. Dipper dragged Ford to the stairs with excitement, "Mom, Dad, can I give Great Uncle Ford a tour?"

"Let your sister help you, Dipper." Alexandria instructed, and handed the duffel to Dipper and Mabel to carry it together, which they did with a bit of a struggle, but much enthusiasm, again refusing Stan's hand when he tried to carry it himself.

"Stanford, let me grab your coat for you." Sherman said, opening a hall closet. Ford froze, not wanting to offend the twins parents, but he couldn't bring himself to take off his trench coat. It'd been his only home for years.

"Sorry, Dad, but Great Uncle Ford never takes it off." Dipper said with a smile, hoping to diffuse the situation.

Mabel chimed in, "It's his signature look, Dad, don't cramp his style!"

"Alright, alright. Dinner's in an hour, we'll call you when it's ready. And go easy on your uncles!" Sherman conceded. Something wasn't right about the way Ford looked, like a deer in headlights, but whatever it was, he decided not to push it.

Mabel and Dipper heaved the bag into the hallway, like an Olympic event, and it landed perfectly outside the guest bedroom. They high fived each other and turned to pull a Grunkle along the hallway. "Over there is the bathroom, Mom and Dad's room is over there, and our room is here, do you wanna see?" Mabel spoke a mile a minute.

"Of course, you little gremlin." Stan said, tousling her hair. "Lead the way." Mabel opened the door to her and Dipper's room, quite a bit larger than their little attic at the Shack. Their beds are at opposite side of the room, and they each had a desk and matching dressers. Mabel's side was plastered with posters, pictures of friends, and some pictures taken in Gravity falls. All of her stuffed animals sat on her bed in a neat row for presentation's sake. Dippers side was very organized, simple bedding, posters from movies hung up perfectly parallel, and he'd even had some pictures from his summer in gravity falls as well. His desk was the messiest spot in the room, littered with loose paper, piles of books, and his own journals. Mabel's desk is quite organized, her craft tools all in neat clear boxes, and an open scrapbook page she had been working on.

"Great Uncle Ford, I wanted to show you something I've been working on. It's about the Reagan administration. I've hit a snag and I was hoping you could help me." Dipper said, pulling Ford off towards his desk.

Mabel held Stan's hand and pulled him over to her side, "I've been cataloging all of our summer adventures, and I've taken up two scrapbooks! I've been making copies of all the pictures so you could take a scrapbook home with you." Mabel pulled out a red album she'd decorated with Stan's fez insignia in gold glitter. Stan grabbed the book as delicately as he could, flipping through the pages. There were photos of their fishing trip, pages full of Mabel's selfies, there was one of Dipper with his nose in the third journal. He paused over a picture of Ford, sitting by himself on the porch. "I'm not done yet, there are a few things I need to add...but do you like it?"

"Mabel, I love it." Stan said, smiling wide. "You took all these yourself?"

"Most of them! I had Soos and Wendy take a few for me." Mabel pointed out a few examples, most of them where she was trying to pose with Dipper, who looked like he was desperately trying to avoid the camera.

Dipper flipped through some papers, trying to find what he wanted to show Ford, and sighed. "Hold on, let me pull it up on my computer." Dipper pulled out his quite sleek and modern laptop. Having a dad in computer biz had its advantages.

"Wait, _this_ is a computer?" Ford asked. "This looks nothing like Fiddleford's laptop." He said, noting that Dipper was using what appeared to be a touchscreen, and the monitor _swiveled_ far more than it probably should.

"Mmhmm, it was a birthday gift from Dad and Mom. I think I bookmarked the page..." Dipper pulled up an article on the internet lightning fast and enlarged the font so Ford can read over his shoulder. "There we go!" He sensed Ford's fascination with his new toy, and picked it up to hand it to Ford. "Do you wanna look at it?" Ford tentatively grabbed hold of the machine. The laptop is crazy light, almost like holding a piece of paper compared to Fiddleford's old creations.

"And all computers are like this now?" Ford asked, incredulous. He folded the screen of the laptop backwards, so the computer looked like a tent. "This looks almost like a tagraph, but larger."

"Well, this one is top of the line, brand new, and technology is constantly changing...wait what's a tagraph?" Dipper watched Ford examine the computer, stoked to impress his Great Uncle with something.

"It's a technology from another dimension. Uh, B-1700 I think. It's basically a library in your pocket. Each one contains the complete history of that world. They're fascinating things. I'd show you, but unfortunately I wasn't able to smuggle one out of that dimension. The Dacirons of that world treat their knowledge like something similar to our Library of Alexandria. Only for the rich elite of their society. Eventually, the lower castes will get fed up and likely destroy each one."

"Hey, that's kind of close! I mean, if you have access to the internet , you can look up information about anything anywhere." Dipper pulled his cellphone out and open up the Google on the browser. "This is a search engine, you can type in anything you want to know about, and it pulls up web pages that relate to your search." He typed in 'Gravity Falls, Oregon' in the search bar and showed off the results. "See? And this one fits in your pocket!"

"And you don't have to have a microchip implanted into your brain to use it?"

"Nope, no brain surgery required. You can try it out if you want!" Dipper pocketed his cell phone and took the laptop back, pulling Google up for Ford. Ford stared at the laptop screen for a moment, then typed 'The Mystery Shack' into the search bar.

One of the first results was a YouTube video, an attempt at advertising Stan had made with Soos and Wendy's help a year ago. It was pretty terrible, but had a few hits due to the hilarity of Stan's lack of social media knowledge. Though, at the end of the video, where a second Stan appeared in a puff of smoke claiming to be 'the _real_ Mr. Mystery,' Dipper and Ford couldn't help but wince.

"Hey, what are you two bozos watching over there?" Stan looked up from Mabel's scrapbook across the room.

"I'm, uh, showing Ford how to use the internet."

Mabel hopped up and shuffled over to look for herself. "This sounds exciting! OOH! Show him that video with the sneezing baby panda! Or the one with ducklings following a cat because they think it's their momma duck!" Mabel's hands reached over Dipper's shoulders, typing 'cute duckling videos' into the search bar. Ford was amazed. It seemed like there was a type of subculture involved that only showed itself over these computers. And then it dawned on him. The only way a subculture could have formed on these things is if enough people had bought them.

And Fiddleford had been trying to push his way into what was now likely a billion dollar industry when Ford called him up.

Stan soon joined the party, trying to keep a straight face while he watched the cutest puppy video he'd ever seen. "Ford, are you really watching this stuff?"

Ford wanted to call Fiddleford back in Gravity Falls and apologize over and over again for cheating him out of potential billions. But instead he swallowed any guilt he felt and lied. "It's just interesting to see a technology like this that's used for social purposes instead of strictly education." It wasn't completely false, but he was more concerned about his friend at this point.

"Grunkle Ford, we should make you a Facebook page!" Mabel took over the keyboard once again to go to Facebook, where Dipper was logged in. He had a few friends from school, family members, and followed a lot of scientists and conspiracy bloggers. His profile picture was one of him and Mabel, who had the matching one as her profile picture too. "You can make friends and keep them updated on your life, it's a really good way to stay in touch with family!"

Mabel tapped away and got started on Ford's Facebook page, if he liked it or not. "Grunkles, when is your birthday?" Ford stiffened. He hadn't actually celebrated it in so long. Even before he'd fallen through the portal and lost track of time, without Stanley, birthdays had become a reminder of being used, manipulated, and betrayed. Of the brother he lost decades ago. After a long silence, Grunkle Stan typed the birthday in himself and crossed his arms, trying not to think about his own issues with his birthday.

Mabel started sending requests to family, adding them to his profile. Grunkle Stan had a page he never touched, for the express purpose of promoting the Mystery Shack. Once people started messaging him to ask for refunds, he got bored with it. To top the whole thing off, Mabel pulled up Dipper's webcam and crawled in Ford's lap to take a good profile picture. "Come on Dipper, get in the frame, say cheese! You too, Grunkle Ford, smile!" Mabel snapped a quite candid picture, her smile was big, but Dipper's eyes were closed and Ford looked like he was about to sneeze. "PERFECT!" Mabel took the liberty of setting that as Ford's profile picture.

A booming voice called from downstairs. "Kids! Bring your uncles down, dinner's almost ready!" Sherman yelled up the stairway, making sure the kids heard him.

Mabel hopped up when she heard her father call, and set Dipper's laptop down. "C'mon, let's eat before it gets cold!" She said, bounding out of the room and down the stairs. Dipper took his computer back, locked it, and properly shut it down. Stanley and Ford followed the twins, exchanging worried glances.

"...Sherman's onto us." Stanley whispered. "We should get our stories straight tonight, and hope they don't ask too much over dinner."

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He hadn't had a civil meal outside of the Shack, and this was going to be difficult. "Well, if they _do_ figure it out, which they won't, not from me anyways, I brought the memory gun. It's in the holster on my hip."

"You brought _what?!_ " Stan said through grit teeth. "That thing made your best friend go crazy, and you wanna use it on the kids p-" Ford shoved his hands over Stan's mouth.

"Keep it down! I wasn't planning on using it on Sherman and Alexandria, though I will if I must. Honestly, Stan, how do you think the police are going to react if they find out you faked your own death? People don't just get away with that, you could go to jail. And last time I used it to bail us out, you didn't exactly _object._ "

"Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Ford? Are you guys coming?" Mabel's head poked out from behind the stairwell.

"Yeah, We'll be right there, sweetheart." Stanley answered, growing a little nervous. The last thing he wanted was to screw something up and lose his relationship with the kids. Convincing the Pines Parents that he and his brother weren't a huge, sad criminal and a traumatized space nerd was of the utmost importance. "Alright, Ford, listen, No weapons at the table, or at least conceal them a little better."

"The weapons don't leave my side. Under _any_ circumstances." Ford was stressed enough as it is, he didn't need to put himself through feeling _vulnerable_ without a way to defend himself. "We just need to get through the rest of today, and then tomorrow, and then we'll be back on the bus to Gravity Falls and everything can go back to _normal_."

"Agreed. You're a brilliant scientist who roamed all over _this_ world while your brother borrowed your identity for witness protection. Any questions?" Stanley asked. Ford didn't respond, he only clasped his hands behind his back and hurried down the stairs.

Dipper had just finished setting the table when Ford appeared, and he beamed up at the grunkle  
he admired the most. "We left space for you and Stan at the end of the table, but you can sit anywhere you're comfortable..."

"It's fine, Dipper. Thank you." Ford said, placing a hand on his shoulder, and taking the seat closest to the back door. Sherman sat to his right, and Stanley took a seat across from Ford. He'd be able to read both Ford and Sherman's body language discreetly from there, and if Alexandria sat on that side of the table, that'd be even better. He wasn't so sure she believed their story, either. Dipper took a seat close to Ford, and Mabel approached Stanley with a dishrag draped over her arm, playing waitress.

"And what would you like to drink this evening, _sir?_ We have a fine vintage Pitt Cola, and I think mom busted out the adult beverages?" Mabel feigned her fanciest accent, and Alexandria had to stifle a laugh. Her daughter's theatrics never ceased to amaze her.

"A Pitt Cola is fine, sweetheart. Thank you." Stan said, smiling at the scene before him.

"And for _you_ , sir?" Mabel asked Ford, who was completely oblivious to the fact that Mabel was only pretending to be a waitress. Stan wanted to smack his forehead.

"Er, a Pitt Cola, please. Ma'am." Ford looked absolutely petrified. Was this how Mabel acted every night at her parent's house? Was this considered normal? She'd never done this at the Shack, was it something only done in the presence of parents? There had to be something he was missing. He tried watching Stan to gage his reaction, but he'd only glared at him, and Sherman and Alexandria weren't much help.

Mabel scurried off quickly to retrieve the two liter of soda for everyone to share. Once her Grunkles' orders were taken, that was good enough for her to drop her server act. Dipper shook his head when Mabel left and called out sarcastically, "Yeah, the rest of us are fine, Mabel! Can you believe the service around here? Don't expect a tip." At this, Ford grew nervous, feeling in his pockets for cash. Stan nearly kicked him under the table, anything to keep Ford from blowing their cover.

Mabel set down the bottle in the center of the table, next to the covered dish that was practically steaming. "Dipper, you and dad already have your drinks, and we have _guests!_ Don't be so sensitive."

Sherman shot the twins a look, trying his hardest not to laugh at their entertaining banter. "That's enough you two, the longer you argue, the colder dinner is going to get." Alexandria began making plates for everyone, using the 'take one down and pass it around' method. She and Mabel had prepared a slow cooked ravioli, pasta made by hand, and it smelled good enough to make both Grunkles salivate. Stan could hardly call himself a chef, and this was likely the first home-cooked meal he'd eaten in years that wasn't underseasoned and overcooked. And Ford hadn't eaten anything decent in almost as long.

Stan took his first bite, and he very nearly didn't have to wait until the Bar Mitzvah to have a religious experience. By taste alone, he could tell that the ricotta was organic, and the creamy texture mixed perfectly with the tomato sauce (those were definitely home grown, the canned sauce from the store never tasted like this) and Mabel and Alexandria had made the perfect pasta. It was by far the best thing he'd tasted in a long while.

And it was going to make him sick.

The last time he'd had a meal this good was in Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. Good lord, he could still see his mother's face as she peered into a steaming pot of vegetables, Sherman Sr. throwing a fit in his rickety high chair, Stanford sprinting out the door in a bow tie of all things, ready to achieve his dreams. His father's face, hidden behind a newspaper. _It'd been a little house, squished together like this, hadn't it?_ Stanley thought to himself, as he took another bite, practically forcing himself. He'd tried for so long to get back home, wasted his life away, went starving more often than not, and for what? He'd likely never see his old house again. His dad was dead, he'd never get the chance to prove to Filbrick that Stanley Pines was _not_ the ignoramus he thought he was. Hell, he'd never even gotten _Ford_ to like him again.

"Do you like it, Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked, her sweet voice piercing Stan's little trip down memory lane. She could sense Stan's state of deep thought, and hoped she didn't do anything to screw up the meal. She'd put all of her love and effort into it.

"It's delicious, Mabel." He'd never been more truthful in his life. Ford was looking at him now. He'd long since noticed Stan wasn't acting as chipper as he'd been when they sat down, and honestly, he wasn't sure he could do anything to help the situation.

Mabel looked relieved to hear her Grunkle approve. Alexandria cleared her throat to break the silence, "There's plenty more where that came from, Stanley. Again, I must say, Sherman and I are very happy to have you and Stanford in our home. Dipper and Mabel have nothing but positive things to say about the both of you. You seem to have made quite the impression this summer. We'll have to ship them off to see you again next year, if you're okay with it of course."

"That would be wonderful." Ford said, delicately placing his silverware on the napkin before speaking. "Having the kids over for the summer was a delight." Alexandria sensed a sincerity in Ford's tone that hadn't been there before.

"Really?" Dipper asked, needing the reassurance. He'd looked up to Ford all summer, and it made his little heart skyrocket to hear he and his sister were wanted back for another summer of adventure.

"Of course, Dipper, I've enjoyed getting to spend time with you kids." Ford placed hand on Dipper's shoulder, reassuring him with a smile.

"That's fantastic. Kids these days spend too much time cooped up in the house. It's good for them to get out and have a sense of _adventure_." Sherman said. "And, well, if that means we have to spend a summer away from the kids, I'm glad it's to send them to live with you."

Mabel chimed in to tease Dad. "Yeah, we get a break from Mom and Dad, _AND_ we get to go on adventures! It's a win win situation for everyone."

"Hey!" Alexandria said, hand over her heart, pretending to be offended. "We missed you both so much while you were gone!"

"Don't forget who it was who gave you two life!" Sherman chided, doing his best to feign seriousness, earning a hearty laugh from Dipper and Mabel. Stanley, however, clenched his fingers against his chair, leaving half moon dents in the wood.

He swore, he'd heard Filbrick Pines in that voice.

His heart was pounding in his chest, he couldn't breathe. Visions of Stanley having to step in front of Ford, of him being lifted off the ground by his shirt, of his father's incoming fists, flashed through his mind. Ford was looking at him, maybe he'd heard their father, too. No, no that's ridiculous. Ford had been the golden child, Stanley had made sure of that. No, it had to be Stanley, he was confusing Sherman for Filbrick, he'd forgotten that Filbrick Pines had been _dead_ for _fifteen years, how could he be so_ _ **stupid**_ _to forget that?_ Stan didn't dare move. Everything about this place was reminding him of the home he'd lost in New Jersey, but he couldn't ruin this for the kids.

The kids didn't notice their great uncles' discomfort and continued to laugh at their dad pretending to be strict. Sherman started to laugh along, all of the Pines authority missing from his voice. "You both are grounded for ten years. We put you in this world and we can take you out of it!" Sherman glanced over at his house guests and noticed there was once again, something up with them. "Are you getting full, Stanley? Stanford? There's still plenty if you want seconds."

"We're, aheh, we're fine, Sherman. Really, dinner was delicious." Stan said, trying to slip into his Mr. Mystery persona, anything to help him sound more convincing. He caught Alexandria's eye, and froze, once again. Years of homelessness, of always looking over his shoulder, of conning whoever happened to pass him by, of running the Mystery Shack, had taught him to read people like open books. And he could tell, by the way she was looking at him: her eyes were squinted, focusing too much on his grey hair and wrinkled skin. The way her hand twitched, each finger moved just a tad, individually in a sequence, like a customer working out what their total should be in their head. Her lips twitched, likely subconsciously. It was barely noticeable, hell, with Stan's cataracts he'd been lucky to see it. No sound came from her lips, he could tell that much even if he hadn't had hearing aid on, but he didn't have to hear to know what she was saying. _Twenty twelve, o two, ninety-two, eighty-two, seventy-two._ Stan and Ford had been expected to graduate in 1972, but only one of them had gotten a diploma, and it wasn't the one who supposedly worked for the government.

She'd figured them out.

"Kids, after we do the dishes, I want you two to make sure your Grunkles' room is set up, and get ready for bed. You have a very big day tomorrow." Alexandria said, it wasn't too obvious too that she wanted some time to talk with Stan and Ford, adult-to-adult. Well, not to Dipper and Mabel, anyways. Alexandria finished her plate and helped Dipper and Mabel get a second helping, knowing full well that they only wanted more food so they could have more grunkle time.

Once the dishes were done, and Dipper and Mabel were tucked in bed, Stanley and Ford found themselves in the guest bedroom (which had been painted bright pink and sprinkled liberally with glitter) pacing like madmen.

"What do you mean they found out?! They didn't even ask us anything!" Ford said, raking his hand through his hair.

"They didn't have to. It was Alexandria, she was counting out our ages. She probably knows when you graduated, Poindexter, it's not exactly hidden information. And I know she knows when I got kicked out. She got us on the diploma." Stan said, pinching the bridge of his nose, blinking back tears. This was it. He was going to lose the last bit of the Pines family that truly cared about him.

Suddenly Sherman knocked at the door, startling Stan and Ford, "Would you two like something to drink, and a little dessert? Alexandria and I will be in the living room when you're ready to come down." He was ready to get the real story about these two men, but until then, he would remain hospitable for as long as possible.

Once Sherman left the room, Stan turned towards the only window in the room, and unclasped the hook.

"What are you doing?" Ford asked, fumbling with the memory gun, trying to think of something to erase that would get the results they wanted but not damage Sherman and Alexandria's minds too much.

"What's it look like, Ford? I'm leaving. I'm going to the bus station and heading home." Stan said, grabbing their duffel bag from the side of the bed. "You and I both know that they're not gonna let us see the kids again if we tell them the truth. Even if we somehow come up with another lie, they _still_ wouldn't let us see them." Stan chuckled, a tear leaking down his face. "I mean, what self-respecting parent would let their kids within a hundred _feet_ of us! _You're_ a reclusive, traumatized space nerd and _I've_ got a criminal record a mile long, and _that's_ just the stuff I got _caught_ doing! We need _them_ more than they need _us_. We'd only be hurting Dipper and Mabel in the long run if we used that… that _thing_ on their parents. If we don't tell them _anything_ , then they won't have anything to tell the _cops_." He paused, drawing a shaky breath. "I can't get kicked outta this family again, Stanford. Please, let's just _go._ "

Ford grabbed the duffel bag to pull Stan away from the window. "We're not getting kicked out of the family, Stan. If we tell them the truth, and they try to call the police, I'll erase their memories."

"Like _hell_ you are." Stan said, through gritted teeth. "Not on the kid's parents. Our best bet is to just _leave._ "

"Stanley, I… I know you think we're bad for the kids, and honestly we probably are… But do you really want to leave them without saying goodbye? Do you want to break their hearts like that?"

" _You shut up about broken hearts!_ " Stan whispered through clenched teeth, his hands balled into trembling fists. " _You shut up about broken hearts, when for once in my life, I'm just trying to protect_ _ **mine**_ _._ " Ford tentatively put his hands on Stanley's shoulders.

"...Stanley, please. Can we try it my way? I don't want a broken heart either...believe me." He paused, pocketing the memory gun. "We could tell them the truth, and just not use the memory gun on them. If they call the police, we'll have to be faster then them, but if we can make it back to Gravity Falls, we could get off scot free. We could hide in the forest, live in the bunker if we have to. It's dangerous in there but it beats jail."

Stan dropped the duffle bag with a loud thump, and removed his glasses to wipe his eyes. "Those kids will never forgive us if their parents make them believe we're dangerous. We've got to do a good job at convincing them that we aren't. You might want to leave the talking to me."

"No, we got into this mess together, and we're getting out of it together. I can censor myself if I have to, but I'll be right there with you, Stanley."

"Let's get this over with. Before they decide to just look my criminal record up on the internet."

"Jesus, they can do that?" Ford asked. "How invasive is that thing?"

"You don't want to know." Stan led the way down the stairs where Sherman and Alexandria were seated on the couch, each with a dark glass of wine.

"Stanley, Stanford. There's more wine in the kitchen if you'd like a glass, and we also have brownies." Alexandria said, as calmly and politely as she could.

"No, thank you, Alexandria. I… I don't drink." Stanford said, hands behind his back.

"I think we all know that you didn't ask us down here to drink fancy wine and eat brownies." Stan said.

"Then pull up a seat, there's plenty of room." Sherman said, a bit more sincerity in his voice than Alexandria had had in hers.

Stan sat across from the couple, in a elegant looking loveseat, keeping his perfect poker face, careful not to give anything under the surface away so easily. _I hope I can run fast enough. Do we have enough money for new tickets back, or am I going to have to pick some pockets? I can't do this…_ Ford sat next to him, looking a bit nervous but otherwise composed.

"Let's get down to brass tacks." Sherman said, sipping from his wine glass. "Why did you lie to us, and why did Stanley _really_ fake his death? We'll make a decision after you're done telling us the whole story. Whatever it is, we'll understand."

"...After dad gave me the boot, I was homeless, okay?" Stan said, not having to sugarcoat it for two shiny twelve year olds anymore. "I did what I had to to get by, but I got involved with a rough crowd. I made a lot of mistakes just trying to survive out there for over ten years. I suddenly get a postcard from my brother asking for my help, the first time I've talked to him since the night i got kicked out, so of course I go to help him." Stanley began.

"I really did go to Gravity Falls to research the paranormal. You don't want to know specifics, but the long and short of it is: it's real, it's dangerous, and it wants to end our world. I'd made my fair share of enemies as well, as well as my fair share of mistakes." Stanford paused. "You might not want to be taking a sip of that wine when I tell you this. Multiverse theory is _definitely_ true, and I'd managed to build an incredibly unstable portal through a weak spot in our reality. I'd written the instructions throughout a series of journals, and I needed a way to hide them so _no one_ could ever start it. Dipper's got a copy of one of them now, er, sans apocalypse instructions."

"So I get to Gravity Falls, and this guy's a mess. Acting like your grandma after her tenth cup of coffee. He's real scared of _something_ , but I didn't know what. So he asks me to hide one of his spooky books. Then we-" Stan's breath hitched, not for the first time that night, and he disguised it under a false cough. "We got in a fight."

"A bad one. By the end of it, Stanley was severely injured on one side of the portal, and I was stranded on the other." Ford picked up when he noticed Stan faltering.

"People'd miss Ford if he was gone, and I knew that he would be back." _I had to know, cause if I'd ever lost hope I wouldn't be here right now._ "So I faked my death instead. Started up a tourist trap in his house, and spent thirty years trying to restart the portal with a third of the instructions. If it weren't for the kids coming to Gravity Falls, I probably would have never gotten my hands on the other two journals. So… thanks for that."

"He restarted the portal, but there were… side effects to using it. Gravity essentially reversed itself. That's what the earthquake really was last month. And so, after thirty years hopping from dimension to dimension... I'm back. Here." Ford said, he and Stanley bracing themselves for when the inevitable came.

"So that's why you were acting so weird at dinner… You haven't been in this world for _decades_." Sherman said, scratching his chin.

"Sweet baby Jesus, Sherman, you said your grandfather was a prick, but you didn't mention he was _that_ much of a prick. Who the hell lets their kid go without shelter for ten years? I'm so sorry for all you two have been through… I can see why you were apprehensive in discussing all of this. Honestly, if it wasn't for Dipper and Mabel constantly trying to tell us stories about weird paranormal creatures, I probably wouldn't have believed you when you said you built a _portal_."

"And to think that you survived for _30 whole years_ in some other dimension? It's so incredible that you're here now." Sherman balked.

"Uh, s-several, actually. I couldn't just sit on my thumbs, I tried to get back home. I guess I got to experience so many different worlds, my own got lost in the chaos." Ford grimaced. What on earth (or any other planet) were these people getting at?

Alexandria sat on the edge of her seat, grasping her wine glass. "Gosh...are you sure you don't want any brownies or a little wine? Thirty years in either of your shoes, I'd sure as hell want some." She offered simply, not at all upset with Ford or Stan.

"What?" Stan asked, squinting at the couple in front of them, for once completely lost.

"Multiverse theory… Incredible! How did you figure it out?" Sherman asked, being technologically inclined himself.

"You don't want to know the answer to that question." Ford said, a deadly serious look on his face.

Alexandria hopped up, placing her glass in her husband's free hand. "I'm getting you guys some brownies, and something to soothe your nerves. It'll be good for you." She shuffled off to the kitchen to make strong drinks and a plate of brownies for the Grunkles, whether they liked it or not.

"What?" Stanley asked again.

"She'll probably break out the brandy. We're not heavy drinkers but we did buy a bottle in case that's what you prefered. Stanford, you said you didn't drink, so obviously you don't have to have any." Sherman said.

"No, no, I don't care about the alcohol. Thank you for offering, but I don't care. Are… are you _okay_ with this?" Stanley asked, blinking back tears.

Alexandria came back with a mug of herbal tea, and some brandy in a pretty crystal glass, and balanced a plate of brownies on her arm. "Okay with what? Your life story? There isn't much you can do to change it, I'm afraid." She set the mug of tea down in front of Stanford. "It's chamomile, you're not allergic are you?"

"We both lied to you _and_ your children all summer! We've been lying to you _again_ since we got here!" Ford screamed. "I'm a dangerous know-it-all and he disregards the law and doesn't think of the consequences of his actions, he risked the _universe_ for the life of one man, and we've been watching your _kids_ all summer!"

"And they've had nothing but good things to say about you both. Dipper and Mabel have really matured over the summer, and they seem to have had a very positive experience. It seems obvious to me that you both would never harm the kids, I can see that you love them as much as we do. Not to mention the fact that you've saved both their lives, on several occasions. When they said you two took out a pterodactyl, a horde of zombies, and a cardboard wizard come to life, we never thought for a second that they _meant_ it. We should be _thanking_ you." Alexandria set the brandy and the brownie down, and wrapped her arms around Ford's neck before he could even react. Ford went rigid in the hug, all his concentration went to fighting against the instincts that were screaming at him to get away. "Come here, Stanley, you too."

Stan slowly approached the two of them, the horror on Ford's face making him worry. He allowed himself to get pulled into a group hug by Alexandria, and reluctantly gave her an awkward _pat pat_. Sherman rose to tap Alexandria on the shoulder, not wanting the grunkles to get overwhelmed. He knew his wife was an affectionate person, and he loved that about her, but he could also tell when she got a little too overbearing. "Alex, dear, I think you're smothering them." Sherman chuckled. She gently pulled away from the hug, beaming.

"I'm sorry, I'm just… We're really happy that you're not serial killers." Alexandria said, only half joking.

"That was _your_ theory, not mine." Sherman almost snorted, the small amount of alcohol in his system making this whole situation hilarious to him. " _I_ was guessing druglords!"

"...Well you're not _wrong_. Or at least you wouldn't have been thirty years ago." Stanley said, slumping his shoulders.

Sherman covered his mouth to suppress his laughter, and gave Stan a pat on the shoulder. "The past is the past, right? It might just be the Californian in me talking, but you were just doing what you had to. Besides, it'd be a little hypocritical of me to really judge you for that."

"Yeah, we were pretty wild in college, right darling?" Alexandria winked and wrapped an arm around her husband.

"Yeah, I guess we were." Sherman said. "The important thing, Stanley, is you're past it now." Stanley didn't do anything. He didn't say anything. He just stared at Sherman, sure that he was lying, but unable to find a tell.

Alexandria could see that Ford and Stan were still distressed. "We um...We didn't mean to upset you by bringing all of this up. We just had to know for ourselves, for the kids' sake. We don't blame you at _all_ for what happened. If it had been Dipper or Mabel on the other side of that portal? We'd have done the same thing Stanley did." Ford wanted to scream, to tell them that they were both fools, that it was madness to risk so much over so little, but it dawned on him that he'd risk it too if it had been Dipper or Mabel. Or worse, Stanley, and it very easily could have been. "You're both family, and you're both good people. We love you both." She grabbed their hands this time, clasping hers around theirs.

"...So, you… You're not going to keep us from ever seeing the kids again? You're not kicking us out?" Stanley asked, just to be absolutely sure. He'd had them pegged, how could he have been so wrong?

"Of course we're not going to kick you out. You can come see the kids whenever you like, just call first so we know to set out extra plates." Sherman said. Stanley was in a state of disbelief, glancing from Sherman to Alexandria's hand over his and Ford's. Then, something clicked in his brain. Before he knew it, he had wrapped Alexandria in another hug, this one much more sincere than the first. He felt Ford wriggling his hand away, but he didn't care. He was going to see Dipper and Mabel again, Sherman and Alexandria actually liked him, the _real_ him. He felt as if he had a real family for the first time in forever. Sherman joined in on the hug this time, and though Ford sat out, Stanley still felt a six fingered hand on his shoulder, and that was good enough for him.

"You, uh… You guys ever need anything… _anything_ … You give us a call, okay?" Stan said, his gruff voice cracking a little.

"Same to you, Stanley. It's what family does." Sherman gave Stanley a firm squeeze before he pulled away.

"You're very kind to be doing this." Stanford said, a tired smile on his face.

Alexandria squeezed once more before pulling away and smiling at the two of them. "Well, I think we've dug up enough dirt for one night. We won't make you stay down here any longer if you're tired. We all are going to have a long day tomorrow." Stan and Ford shared a worried glance.

Oh, right.

The bar mitzvah.


	4. You'll Regret That When You're Eighty

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" _Disco girl…..comin throuuugh…"_ Dipper hummed along to his BABBA CD in the bathroom as he combed his hair back, pausing to stare at his forehead in the mirror, a small frown ghosting across his face. He looked much older and dignified with it out of his face, but the constellation on his forehead still made him feel insecure. He squinted a little at his double in the mirror, his mind racing to the beat of the pop song. _Do I look too much like a kid...? I'm supposed to be a man now, I'm an adult. I'm mature. Tyrone would have loved to be doing this… What would Tyrone do? Hide it? Flaunt it? ...That girl is yooouu, oo-ooo- wait, Dipper, focus. Don't forget anything from your 2 months of hebrew school last spring. Just_ _ **focus**_ _and you'll do everything just fine. Its not like your whole_ _ **family**_ _is watching you_ \- Dipper's eyes widened and he clutched his chest in panic, "Mabel, I need your help!"

Mabel popped her head in the bathroom, hand over her eyes, her hair up in a messy bun centered at the top of her head, and she was covered up in a fluffy pink bathrobe. She'd been in the middle of applying makeup, and looked sort of insane without her full face finished. "Dipper, I replaced the toilet paper last time…! Oh, you aren't stranded?" Mabel slid in and closed the door. "What's the big deal? Do you want me to help you slick your hair back or something?"

"Or something…. Mabel, would you be able to cover up my birthmark? With your makeup?" Dipper asked softly, a small part of him hoping Mabel didn't hear and he could change his mind. His family loved his unusual birthmark, but he didn't always feel the same. Being around Ford over the summer had helped a little, but he was just one person: Dipper was about to go up there in front of everyone, his whole community, with his forehead lit up like a billboard.

"Are… are you sure, Dipper? I mean, this is your big day. And everyone loves your birthmark, the only people who made fun of it are those brats at school. And none of those idiots will be there. You're gonna look great, Dip, you don't need my help." Mabel was her brother's biggest fan, and she would stand up for him if anyone gave him trouble. She was pretty well liked at school, and she always made sure Dipper was included if he wanted to be. But she also knew that he was insecure about his birthmark, and she didn't try to force him to show it off if he didn't want to.

"Please… Mabel you have to help me I don't know how to cover it up myself." All Dipper could think of was everyone staring at him, only seeing his birthmark, nothing else. "I can't go out there like this! Everyone's gonna think I'm a freak!"

Mabel groaned and huffed a sigh. "Alright, if you want me too so bad. Come on, the lighting at my desk is better, let's give you a makeover… no, a MANover!" Mabel playfully punched her brother in the arm, a little harder than she'd meant to, and dragged him out of the bathroom. "I'm going to make you look so awesome Dipper. How do you feel about mascara…?" She never got to make her brother over, and she was going to get ALL she could get out of it.

"Please no _eye_ stuff." Dipper said, shuddering. "How do you stand poking yourself with that, uh, brushy thing?"

"Dipper, if you're poking your eyeball, you're doing it wrong. Trust me, I'm the makeover master." Mabel snorted at her brother's fear of something so natural to her. She sat Dipper down in the chair at her desk and put his hair back with one of her headbands. "Alright Mabel, let's make a work of art." She picked up a bunch of intimidating makeup products and used her hand as a pallette. Mabel's parents were a little apprehensive about her wearing makeup so young, but she enjoyed makeup simply for the fun of it, and rarely wore it to school to impress others. She loved the way she looked on her own, and wasn't being pressured to change anything. She just enjoyed using another medium on a human canvas. She applied some sort of primer over Dipper's forehead with her finger and hummed softly to herself, working with focused precision.

Dipper winced at the foreign feeling on his face. "Is this stuff supposed to feel slimy? Ah-hey!" Mabel shooshed her brother by tickling his nose with a fluffy brush. She used a tiny flat looking brush to put...green stuff on his face? "Mabel, that isn't my skin color. This isn't _anyone's_ skin color."

"SHH! Don't question the master. The green stuff cancels out redness, you dink. It's all going to pull together." Mabel blended out the redness concealer with a sponge; the effects had already started to show. She started applying liquid foundation over Dipper's mark, practically beating him with the sponge to apply it. "Hey, hold still! I'll put eyeshadow on you!"

"Mabel! No eye stuff!" Dipper screamed, trying to push her away. Mabel groaned and crossed her arms, stepping back and putting the eyeshadow away. She waited until Dipper stopped squirming to continue, being a little more gentle this time.

Mabel applied another layer of liquid foundation and finally set it with powder and a big fluffy brush. "Okay, Brobro, prepare to be amazed!" Mabel help up a little compact mirror so Dipper could get a good look. He now had a blank canvas on his forehead, not a red line nor a stray dot to be seen. "Do you like it? I can do your eyebrows too! Maybe a little contour….how do you feel about lipgloss?"

"Mabel, this is _perfect_!" Dipper said, grabbing the little mirror and tilting it so he could see better. "Can you teach me how you did it? I should do this all the time!" A part of him was sad that he had to hide a part of himself, but what else could he do? He certainly couldn't parade his birthmark in front of all those people.

Mabel frowned. She understood wanting to cover up for their big day, but she felt like she just gave Dipper another thing to worry about. "Maybe later, brobro. I have to finish my face too, you know… I know I'm a totally amazing makeup artist and all...but the natural look suits you best."

Dipper paused, looking down at his feet. "...No it doesn't."

In the bright pink guest room down the hall, Stanley and Ford weren't faring much better.

"Stanley, I can't do this." Ford was pacing, clutching his trenchcoat. "I can't go into a _synagogue_ wearing this thing, but I _can't_ take it off." The coat had been with him too long. It'd been with him since he graduated college… a gift. From Fiddleford. He'd never taken it off, not in over thirty years, not even when it turned black with filth.

"Ford, relax. Mabel and I already talked about that, and I think we've got an idea." Stan said. He hadn't started getting ready yet, he was still in his boxer shorts and a dirty white undershirt. Stan dug through his old duffel, trying to find a small plastic bag. He held it up to Ford, showing off the contents.

"...Safety pins?" Ford asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mabel gave me these and some instructions on how to pin it. It'll look just like a suit jacket, and when it's over you can just take 'em out." Stan said, unfolding a piece of notebook paper with a few diagrams on it in colored pencil.

"Stanley, are you sure you ca-"

"Stanford. I put together most of a fucking _interdimensional portal_ with a third of the instructions. I can handle your goddamn trenchcoat." Stan said, glaring at Ford. "Now come here and let me look at it." Stanford stepped forward, stretching out his arms as Stan set to work, pausing every now and then to look at Mabel's instructions. When he was done, Ford was amazed to find that Stanley had been right. It really did look just like a suit.

"Thank you." Was all he could say.

"Yeah, sure. Put on a nice shirt and a tie too, at least. We have to look presentable." Stanley had set his suit set out already, along with a nice blue bowtie and pocket square to match.

"Oh god, I forgot to pack a- umph." Ford was cut off as a pale blue button up shirt was tossed his way, followed by a very nice brown silk tie.

"I knew you'd _forget_ , and need to borrow something, so here. I didn't bring extra shoes, your boots are going to have to work." Stan said, struggling to fit into his waist cincher. He grunted when all of his belly fat was sucked in and his shapewear finally fit. Stan pulled on his clothes with care, always doing whatever he could to look nice when he had the opportunity and the privilege to do so. Years and years of filthy clothes and greasy hair, of not having access to a proper shower or even a toothbrush, of feeling the cold stares of passersby, made him relish the feeling of getting dolled up.

"...You look nice." Ford said, before slipping into the closet to change his clothes. He hated the way his sweater caught on puckered scars, raised just above the surrounding skin, but more than that he _hated_ what he'd been foolish enough to tattoo on himself so many years ago.

Bill Cipher's image had been tattooed almost everywhere, on his arms, shoulders, on his back. A constant reminder that he was _watching_ , that Ford had been blind enough to follow him.

He'd hated it so much he'd taken a knife to his skin and tried to carve out the tattoos, one by one.

It didn't matter that most of _those_ scars were covered by ones that he'd received journeying across the multiverse, from monsters and criminals, from actual injuries. No, it was the ones he'd inflicted on himself that he hated the most. A constant reminder of his past failings, and a constant reminder of the state of his soul.

Stanley shook his head when Stanford hid to change his clothes. They both had gotten older, and it was obvious that Ford was much more fit than Stan. What did he have to be shy about? Bodies change. Even if it was something as mundane as scars, Ford was a smart guy; he could piece together that Stan would have more than a few after a decade of homelessness. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a fistful of bobby pins, and carefully pinned his yarmulke to his hair. This was an important day for Dipper and Mabel, and even though the thought of wearing religious attire again made every bone in Stan's body want to scream, he'd do it for them.

Stan took a quick look in the mirror, just to make sure everything was in the right place, and froze. Christ, Ford had been _right_ all those weeks ago. He really did look like a poorer, _fatter_ version of dad. Well… those hadn't been his exact words, but they still stung. He turned away, pushing the thought from his mind.

Once Ford emerged from the closet all dressed up, Stanley looked him over with a little grin. "Look at you, see what a change of clothes can do? You don't look like some second rate action movie extra anymore. But don't take this as an excuse to raid my closet without askin'." Stan felt a little proud to see change in his brother's appearance, like he actually took care of himself for once. Thanks to his handiwork, the tattered edges of Ford's trenchcoat were hidden, and his shirt and tie made him look cleaner, a bit more like the weird but wholesome know-it-all Ford had been over thirty years ago, and a bit less like the threatening yet nervous space nerd he was now.

Ford gave Stan a little smile, before grabbing his own yarmulke and pinning it in place.

"You really think I look nice?" Ford asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

"We're identical, you can't look bad." Stanley joked, elbowing him. He saw Ford's unamusement and sighed, "Yeesh, you're sensitive. Yes, you look nice. If you put some effort into how you look, you'll be surprised with the results."

"I just hope people will be paying more attention to Dipper than they will to me." Ford could hear it now, " _did you see that six fingered freak at Dipper and Mabel's bar/bat mitzvah? Who was he?_ " He couldn't detract the attention away from them. Not on their big day.

"As long as you don't pull any of your crazy geek weapons out, I don't think anyone will notice another old man, six fingers or not." Stanley said with a wave of his hand. "Are you ready to go now? I think Sherman and Alexandria are waiting on us." Ford gave a curt nod, pausing to adjust the knife he had concealed under his pants leg, and walked out the door. Having _that_ fall out during the ceremony would be a disaster.

Downstairs, Alexandria and Sherman were waiting with a camera, wanting to capture everything, from the moment the kids come down the staircase. Alexandria was wearing a knee length light blue dress, with wide shoulder straps and an elegant and modest neckline. A plum sash that matched her heels was tied around her waist. Sherman wore a tallit over his nicest suit, the jacket a pale tan color, with a light blue shirt and a plum tie that Mabel picked out especially for the occasion. He readied the camera when he heard footsteps, but it was the Grunkles who came down first. He snapped a surprise photo with the flash on. "Oops! Sorry, wrong twins." He laughed to himself. "Hey, at least we've got a photo of you two now. Wanna see?"

"When you get the photos developed? Of course" Ford said, not realizing that every camera nowadays was digital, not just the ones in computers. "You have our address right?"

Sherman blinked for a second before it hit him. "Oh, right! You probably missed digital cameras. I can just show you now." He turned the camera around so the screen faced Ford. "It's all digital, see? The photos are saved to an SD card, kind of like a tiny floppy disc, and you can transfer them to any device with an SD slot. They hold anywhere from 8 gigabytes of data to 200."

"200 _gigabytes_?! For _photographs_? The data from the _moon landing_ was recorded on… what 150 megabytes? I think?" Sherman smirked at Ford, turned off the camera, and ejected the SD card.

"They're also about this big." He said, winking. He loved working to help build the best computers on the market, but sometimes he missed being able to impress people with the little things about technology.

Ford took the card delicately to inspect it, adjusting his glasses as if it would give him a better look. "This is astounding, Sherman! I've honestly never seen anything like it, much less from a dimension like ours." There was something strange and foreign about how social this dimension was in comparison to so many others, but after so long, it was beginning to feel comforting to Ford again.

Alexandria took the SD card back from Ford and popped it back in the slot. "Do you want to try and take a picture? They make it so easy, anyone can call themselves a photographer." She handed over the amazingly small camera. Between the camera's size and Ford's extra fingers, holding it was more than a little difficult at first. "You just press and hold the shutter button and the flash is automatic. It records video as well, but the quality isn't as good on this camera."

"Of course, thank you. Uh, Stanley, stand next to Sherman?" When Stan complied, rolling his eyes a bit at how easily impressed Ford was, Ford raised the camera and pressed the shutter button. for him

The picture actually came out okay. Stan had decided to make a silly face at the last minute, sticking out his tongue and putting rabbit ears over Sherman's head, but the photo itself looked nice. Not perfect, but better than anything else Ford had ever taken.

Tiny footsteps were heard, and Ford nearly dropped the camera trying to hand it back to Sherman before the kids got downstairs. Stan and Ford scrambled to get out of the way, and Alexandria was beaming already, waiting to see her two beautiful children.

Mabel came down first, looking like a princess. Her hair was gathered in a side ponytail, an explosion of curls, and decorated with sparkly barrettes. Her dress was something she had picked up at a thrift store and given new life, a blue and violet sequined bodice with a flared out skirt, about as fluffy as she could possibly make it. She had a pretty ribbon tied in a bow around her waist to match her mother's. She did some subtle makeup, a little lip color and some blush, looking grown up but not too much so. She was beaming and posing for the camera, knowing very well that she looks good.

Dipper followed his sister, wearing a very expensive looking suit, a rich dark blue color, tailored perfectly for him, and a tallit. His tie was chosen by Mabel to match everyone else's, and though he protested, it turned out looking very dapper. His parents beamed, aiming the camera, ready to take a picture. Dipper's slicked back hair caught the light as he walked down the stairs, and Sherman was about to press the shutter button when he stopped short.

Dipper's birthmark was gone. Everyone's face went blank, Sherman nearly dropped the camera. Dipper suddenly froze, sure that he'd messed something up already.

"Dipper… what's that on your face? Where's your beautiful birthmark?" Alexandria asked, moving forward and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Mom, I can't go up there with that thing on my face! Everyone will make fun of me!"

"Son," Sherman said, worry on his face. "You're a man now. You shouldn't have to hide who you are. No one will make fun of you, I promise."

Mabel looked ashamed, she had agreed to help Dipper hide his birthmark. She just wanted to make Dipper feel confident, but now she got the sneaking suspicion that she'd failed. "Dipper, you don't _really_ need all of that makeup to look all grown up and mature or whatever. We all really like how you look." Mabel took Dipper's hand in her own and squeezed it.

Ford stood perfectly still. He knew what this was like. Sometimes there wasn't anything he wouldn't give to feel normal in his own skin, but he'd come to accept that he'd always have twelve fingers, and that they were an important part of who he was. But Dipper was so young, he didn't deserve to feel the same way Ford had when he was Dipper's age. Over the summer, Ford had tried his best to help Dipper be more confident about his birthmark, but apparently he'd failed miserably. He brought his hands out from behind his back, intending to say some words of encouragement, when something clicked in his head. He glanced from Dipper to his hand and back again, remembering how his own father taught him to always hide his hands, before he slowly knelt down to Dipper's level, gently pulling him closer. Keeping one hand on Dipper's shoulder, he took a small handkerchief from his pocket, and gently wiped the makeup from his forehead.

Dipper squirmed a little when Ford began to rub away the gunk on his face and turned red, embarrassed he had thought to do that in the first place. His uncle, _the author_ , had disapproved, what had he been thinking? But Ford simply pulled him into a hug, being careful not to muss up his nephew's hair.

"You're strong, Dipper. Stronger than I ever was. Be better than me, don't hide what makes you unique." He gently whispered, ashamed that he'd allowed his own insecurity to affect Dipper.

Dipper hid his face in his Great Uncle's shoulder and hugged back tight. He felt worse than he did before Mabel put the makeup on him. "I'm sorry, Great Uncle Ford…"

"No, _I'm_ sorry. You're a great kid, Dipper. And I should have done more to let you see that." Dipper paused, taking in Ford's statement, before smiling and hugging tighter.

Sherman resisted the temptation to snap a picture of this touching moment. He and Alexandria had never really succeeded to make Dipper feel confident about his mark, despite their best efforts. It was amazing to see Dipper had a role model who was so similar to him, someone who he could look up to, someone who understood him and what he was going through. When Ford and Dipper broke their hug, Dipper looked happier without his hat than he had in a long time.

"That's much better, Dipper. You look so handsome! Stand in front of the staircase with Mabel and your great uncles, let us get a good picture of you!" Alexandria had to wipe a tear away, seeing her little babies all grown up, maturing, it almost hurt. "This is going to make for a good scrapbook, Mabel." Alexandria said as they all gathered before Sherman to pose for a picture.

Mabel and Dipper stoop in front of Stan and Ford who place a hand on each of the littler twins' shoulders. Mabel and Dipper smiled wide for the picture, and the grunkles smiled with sincerity, genuinely happy to be with the kids for such a milestone.

"Okay, one more. Say 'something stupid'!" Stanley grabbed Dipper, lifting him up onto his shoulders. Mabel and Ford decided to pretend to start a boxing match.

"Something stupid!" They said as the camera flashed.

Alexandria giggled and leaned on Sherman to peek at the picture. "That's a keeper. Stanford, would you get one with us and the kids?" She offered, she figured Ford would have fun playing with the camera again.

"Of course," Stanford said, taking the camera and waiting for Sherman and Alexandria to place themselves in the frame.

Dipper and Mabel's parents stood next to them, placing their arms around each other and squishing close. "Cheeeese!" They all said with a big smile. Stanford snapped a couple of pictures while the Pines family posed, getting plenty of good ones.

"Yikes, if we don't hurry, we'll be late!" Sherman said, glancing at his watch.

"To the garage!" Mabel yelled, dragging Dipper by the arm.

"Hey, you two gremlins don't mess up your clothes!" Stan called after them.

Stanford and Alexandria followed the kids to their SUV, the grunkles following behind. "You two leave room for your uncles in the back, alright?" Dipper and Mabel crawled to the very back row of seats to make room for Stanford and Stanley. Before Stanford could climb into the van, Alexandria caught him by the arm.

"...Thank you." She said softly, a warm smile on her face. "For what you did back there." Ford was absolutely speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Before he could think of anything to say, Alexandria stepped around him and climbed into the van. Ford followed suit, and they were off.

The closer to the synagogue they got, the more Stanley noticed that something was very, _very_ , wrong. While the rest of the family was chitchatting away, Stanford had taken to staring out the window, one hand on the door handle, the other twitching like mad, tugging at the pants leg that concealed his knife. Beads of sweat had begun to crop up on his forehead, his cracked glasses reflecting the twilight of the town, and his face was whiter than a ghost. By the time they'd arrived at the temple, Ford looked like he was about to either run away into the wilderness or kill somebody, whichever basic instinct won out first.

The Congregation Sherith Israel was beautiful: smooth tan walls, gothic-revival style architecture four stories tall, easy, stained glass windows, and a beautiful dome on top for all to see. It was by far the biggest building Ford had gone into since he'd gotten back, as well as the most populated. As the Pines family made their way to the front entrance, through a swarm of people, Ford fell to the back, a good ten feet behind the rest of the family, keeping his distance from the crowd and glaring daggers at anyone who came too close. Stanley slowly made his way back to Ford, gently nudging his arm.

"You alright?" He whispered. "What do you need me to do?"

"Please just stay behind me," Ford whispered, almost too quickly for Stan to catch. He nodded and began following Ford.

The interior of the temple was exquisite. With its warm vibrant colors, and hand painted frescoes on the walls and ceiling, benedictions gold leafed in Hebrew, the creeping feeling that he and Ford didn't belong there welled up in Stan's throat. He pushed it back down, focusing on Dipper in front of them. He was here for Dipper and Mabel's sake, after all.

As they made their way up the stairs towards the sanctuary, Ford's heart nearly stopped beating. Every instinct he had was telling him to run, to get as far away from these people as possible before they decided to sacrifice him to whatever horrifying deity they were worshiping. The only thought that ran through his head was him trying to remind himself that this was a _synagogue_ , these people were Jewish. No one was going to kill him, no one was going to attack, he'd been in synagogues before and come out just _fine_ , the only god this congregation worshipped had no taste for human sacrifice, didn't desire to instil madness and fear in the hearts of mortal men, and would have no interest in devouring his soul, quite the opposite, in fact. The only thing that kept him moving forward was Stan's presence behind him.

Dipper looked back behind his shoulder to make sure the Grunkles didn't get lost in the crowd. When Ford's panicking eyes meet Dipper's, he gave his uncle a little wave and a sincere smile. Dipper could tell that Ford was a little nervous, and chalked it up to being around so many people at once. He fell back to Ford, intending to walk him the rest of the way.

"It's alright, Great Uncle Ford." Dipper's voice sounded miles away, and the sensation only made Ford panic even more. Dipper took his hand, and it was like a thousand needles had been jammed underneath his skin, but Ford didn't dare pull away. "I know a spot near the back where no one ever sits. It's near one of the exits, too. I can show you, if you want."

At this point, Ford was too panicked to speak, but he nodded to Dipper, thankful that he knew an escape route. With Dipper as their guide, Ford and Stan were able to push through the crowd with ease. Eventually, Dipper brought them to a halt in a far corner of the sanctuary, where no one was sitting. The majority of the crowd sat closer to the stage at the front.

"No one sits back here, there's a draft and it gets too chilly. That door leads to a bathroom and a fire escape. You'll be fine, Great Uncle Ford. You're the _author_ , you're awesome!" Dipper said, giving Ford a tiny thumbs up. "I've gotta go, but I'll meet you after it's over. The party's going to be in the Newman Hall." He said, before darting off to go find his parents. Ford quickly took a seat in the pew, squeezing himself as close to the exit as possible, and Stan sat next to him. The rest of the family were aiming to sit on the front row, and gave a wave to Stan and Ford on the way to their spot. Stan was calm enough to give them a nod, but neither of them felt up for acknowledging anyone in the temple any more than they had to.

The temple quieted when everyone got seated, and the service began. The rabbi appeared and greeted the congregation, said a few words to bless the day and to inform everyone of the special joint bar/bat mitzvah they had to read for them today. The Torah was brought from the ark in a beautiful procession before Dipper and Mabel were called up.

Dipper stood up, forced some fake confidence and made his way to the bema to read before the sea of people in the sanctuary. Mabel stood and smoothed her dress calmly, following behind her brother.

Stan was caught up in a wave of dread and shame. Everything in the temple was reminding him of the life he lost in Glass Shard Beach, of baptist luncheons, the all encompassing heat of the Colombian night sky, of the teenager that could have been him, that _was_ him, booted from her home. Of crushing, suicidal hopelessness and firebombs. He didn't belong here.

Stan reached up to tug a lock of hair that wasn't there.

Dipper opened his mouth and began to read before the congregation. His Hebrew was a little shaky at first, but his dedication showed, and read with strong conviction.

Something in Ford snapped then. The ticking time bomb in his head struggling to choose between fight or flight had made a decision, and there was no stopping it.

Dipper searched in the sea of people for his parents, and caught their eye.

Out of the corner of Stan's eye, he saw Ford stand up so fast he almost missed it, and that was all the invitation he needed.

Dipper glanced over to where he knew Ford and Stan would be seated, just in time to see the back of Stan's tuxedo as he and Ford slipped through the door. Dipper paused his speech for a moment, having to clear his throat, and hoped to himself that his Grunkles were okay. Dipper continued, knowing that the show must go on.

Stan was practically pushing Ford down the hallway leading to the exit, wanting nothing more than to run away and never set foot in another religious building again, but Ford whipped around, grabbing Stan's wrist so hard it almost cracked, and shoved them into the bathroom Dipper had mentioned earlier.

"W-we can't- We c-c-can't _leave_ Dipper's i-in th-there _he's counting on us-_ oh god-" Ford stammered out, shoving all his weight against the bathroom door to barricade it. The bathroom was close enough to the sanctuary that Stanley and Ford could still hear everything that was going on inside, crystal clear even through Stan's hearing aid, like it was designed that way on purpose, so no one could escape the crushing feeling that they didn't belong there. Ford sunk down to the ground, still leaning against the door, and unsheathed the knife he had concealed beneath his pants leg. His knuckles were white against the hilt, but holding the weapon made the panic a little less blinding, at least.

Stan panted, desperate to catch his breath, and stepped back when Ford pulled his weapon out. "Woah, F-Ford, easy there…. We're here, we didn't bail, we just need to calm down a little...we'll be at the party." He took deep breaths and ran the faucet in order to splash water on his face. Stanley knew well by now how to calm himself down when he really needed to, but Ford looked long gone. Stan got down on one knee in front of Ford and looked him dead in the eyes "Just breathe, Ford. We'll get through this."

In the sanctuary, Dipper finished his reading and returned to his seat. He glanced back and noticed his grunkles were still missing, and his heart sank with worry. _Where did they go? Is something wrong? Should I go check on them?_ Dipper tapped his father's shoulder and whispered, "I'm going to the bathroom." Sherman gave a quiet nod, squeezing his son's shoulder. Quietly, ignoring the stares of the congregation, Dipper slipped through the sanctuary and through the exit he'd shown his uncles. Mabel stood and began her reading, her voice carrying throughout the sanctuary.

"I-I-I can't- I c-can't _d-do this_ , Stan." Ford stared at the knife, a thirteen inch blade, full tang, reminding himself that he wasn't vulnerable, he could defend himself just fine with this. "Y-you saw how m-many pe-people were _in th-there_. They-they're go-gonna- They're gonna _kill us,_ Stan, they're gonna sa-sacri-" Ford's stutters faded into hitched and labored breathing.

Stan froze, memories of shaving his head, of joining the compound, rising to the surface. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he swore he felt the same feeling of dread he'd felt all those years ago. A scene flashed through his mind; Ford, younger, tied up on a stake somewhere in a far off world, or maybe this one. Cultists- Stan among them- surrounding him as a firebomb dropped towards his head. He knew _exactly_ what had Ford so spooked, and it wasn't the crowd, not entirely. Stan slowly inched towards his brother, hands trembling. When Ford didn't jump away or try to attack him, Stan sat, back to the door, helping Ford barricade them in the empty bathroom. The sound of Mabel's Hebrew filtered through the walls.

"We're _Jewish_ , Stanford. No one's gonna sacrifice anyone." He said quietly.

"...They did good, at least." Stan said, struggling to control his breathing.

"...Y-yeah… I-I'm proud of them." Ford said, twirling the knife in his hands.

There was a small push against the door of the bathroom, making Stan jump to his feet and Ford lean against the door harder, and then a panicked knock.

"Great Uncle Ford? Are you in there? Is everything okay? I can't get in." Dipper's familiar voice squeaked. Stan's eyes went wide, glancing from Ford's face to the knife in his hands. Ford seemed to have gotten the message, and hid the knife back under his pants leg. Ford took a deep, shaky breath, trying to compose himself, and stepped away from the door. Without anyone there to block it, the door swung open when Dipper tried to push it again.

"Whoa!" Ford's hands were faster than lightning, his nerves putting him on edge had made him quicker than normal, and caught Dipper just before he hit the ground. "Are you okay?" He asked, his voice still wavering a little.

Dipper scrambled to stand back up on his own, smoothed out his suit, and adjusted his tallid. "Yeah, I'm fine, are _you okay_?" Dipper shut the door and looked at his two grunkles, hiding in the bathroom of a synagogue. "I saw you get up...are you feeling sick?"

"Y-you could say that…" Ford said quietly, kneeling down to Dipper's level. "Go back to the service, Dipper. We'll… We'll meet you at the party. You and Mabel were _great_ out there, we just got a little anxious is all." Dipper couldn't really wrap his head around what was so threatening about a synagogue. At first, he'd thought Ford was anxious because of the crowd, and maybe that was still true, but then why was Stan in here, too? He looked just as panicked as his brother.

"Okay… its okay, Great Uncle Ford. I don't think anybody else noticed you leave, except maybe Mom and Dad, but they'll understand. I think half of the people in there are asleep." He chuckled half heartedly. "You're gonna be okay." He patted Ford gently on the shoulder, and walked over to Stan to offer him the same affection. "Don't miss the party, okay? There's gonna be cake…" Dipper slipped out of the bathroom on that note and hurried back to the sanctuary.

Ford and Stan stood there for a moment, speechless, listening to the last of Mabel's reading.

Slowly, Ford's hyperventilating died down, and Stan's heart stopped feeling like it was going to burst through his chest. Stan looked to Ford and started to laugh, quiet at first, but then he couldn't stop. It seemed so ironic to him, after all summer of handling Dipper and his paranoia, the tables had turned. Dipper really did become a man, or so it seemed to Stanley. After a few seconds, Ford actually joined in.

"I don't know what we ever did to deserve a family like that one," Ford started, leaning back against the wall, still a little nervous but not in a panic anymore.

"But I don't know what we'd do without 'em." Stan finished, leaning on the sink for support, one hand over his face. "We could go wait in the hall where they're doing the party, its probably empty right now. I don't think I want anyone comin' in the bathroom and seein' us like this. I'm up for the party if you are, poindexter"

Taking note from Stan's book, Ford splashed some water on his face and leaned over the opposite sink. "I suppose I am. Though I haven't been to a party in decades."

"...I'll stick with you." Stan said, not meeting Ford's eyes. "If you want."

"I believe that would be best, but you don't have to." Ford responded, and shut the water off. "...Thank you."

Stan paused. Ford had been thanking him a lot lately. For what, and why, Stan didn't know. A part of him wanted to push the matter, ask him why Ford had suddenly decided to start appreciating him. But the rest of him had been put through the emotional wringer, and elected to let it be.

Stan and Ford peeked out of the bathroom and made their way to where Mabel and Dipper's party would be held, thankfully they were uninterrupted on their walk. With nothing to do, and really nothing to say, Stan and Ford each pulled up a chair and sat in silence, waiting for the service to end. The hall had been decorated in all blue and purple, balloons and streamers everywhere. There was a big cake in the corner of the room, three tiers high, embellished with all kinds of beautiful frosting, sugar pearls, smooth and velvety looking fondant. There was a DJ table set up, and every table had a nice centerpiece and fancy napkins and silverware. Mabel and her mother had overseen the whole thing, planned out every single detail months and months ahead of time. The scene looked almost sad without people and lights and music, but it was at least peaceful, and a more than welcome respite after the past couple days.

A few hours later, the service ended, and people began to file out of the sanctuary, making their way towards the Newman Hall, where the party was being held. Sherman and Alexandria had zipped ahead of all of them. Stan and Ford slipping out of the sanctuary hadn't escaped their notice, and it had them worried. They could be anywhere by that point, and if they weren't in the synagogue it could be _hours_ before anyone found them in a city as big as San Francisco.

Alexandria burst into Newman Hall, Sherman in tow, and gasped with relief when she saw Stan and Ford in the darkness. "Oh, goodness, you guys scared us! Are you okay, what happened?"

"We're so sorry, Alexandria. We didn't mean to skip out on the service." Stan began, standing up to address the couple.

"We just…" Ford began, but trailed off. Getting anxious in the temple was easy to explain to a child; it would never occur to Dipper that Ford and Stan had issues with religion itself. But Sherman and Alexandria were older, wiser. They would piece it together, and they likely would not understand, or worse, take it as an affront to their beliefs when this was not the case. Still, they deserved the truth. "Between the crowd and the service… We just got anxious is all. We had to duck out to avoid making a scene."

"That's a bit of a relief. Not to dismiss your discomfort, but we thought it might be something… _supernatural_ … that sounds kind of silly in retrospect, but after hearing your story last night, it seemed like a very real possibility." Sherman said, wiping his brow.

"Don't… Don't worry." Ford said, fidgeting with his coat. "Supernatural anomalies exist everywhere, but if you were to take a map of the world, and put a pin in that map for every anomaly that happened, you'd find a higher concentration in Gravity Falls than anywhere else. And the supernatural phenomena there have existed side by side with humans for thousands of years, _at least_. Granted, they're still a threat every now and again, but on the whole things are peaceful. I probably should have explained that last night." He said, scratching the back of his head.

Sherman and Alexandria both laughed, almost too hard. "Oh my gosh, that's a relief! Well...for us at least. We're both glad that you're okay." Sherman said with a grin. "The kids should be here soon, and guests'll be pouring in, so you might want to make yourselves comfortable. It'll just be some other distant relatives and the kids' friends from school, nothing too intimidating, and definitely not as many people as there were at service."

Alexandria scoffed. "Teenagers are _very_ intimidating, Sherman, don't speak too soon."

"Alexandria, I couldn't agree more." Ford deadpanned. The doors burst open then, making Ford jump a little.

Dipper and Mabel dashed across the hall and ran to hug their grunkles.

"We're so glad you're alright!" Mabel said, clutching Ford's waist, staring up at him with big brown eyes.

"Of course we're alright, kiddo!" Stan said, trying to play it off. He picked Dipper up and hugged him close. "Thanks for what you did back there, kid." He whispered in his ear.

Dipper squeezed Stan back and smiled at him. "Its the least I can do, Grunkle Stan," Dipper whispered back.

The guests started to filter in through the doorway, and Dipper and Mabel broke their hugs. Everyone was toting gifts wrapped in pretty paper and dressed in their finest. A gaggle of tween girls _squealed_ when they saw Mabel, and they all giggled and merged into a crowd together, talking nonstop like most thirteen year old girls do. Quite a few relatives on Alexandria's side showed up, and even Dipper had a couple of friends who made it to the party.

"Come on he's over here!" Dipper said, pulling a stout blonde boy behind him, making his way towards Ford. "Great Uncle Ford, this is my friend, Jason. Jason, this is my Great Uncle! He's the one who studies the paranormal! He's a brilliant scientist with lots of cool inventions, and he was probably involved in the Reagan conspiracy!" Ford jumped a tad, but knelt down to Jason's level once he realized this new child wasn't a threat.

"Hi, Jason. I'm Stanford Pines." He said with a lopsided smile.

"Jason Crampelter, put 'er there!" Jason stuck his hand out for a friendly shake.

Ford froze, hesitant to show someone named "Crampelter" his six fingers. But Dipper was here. If he picked up on his hesitation, he might get insecure about his birthmark again.

Ford stuck his hand out carefully, as careful as someone diffusing a bomb, giving Jason a firm handshake.

"Nice to meet you, Jason."

Jason Crampletler completely missed Ford's hesitation, and figured he had a thing about germs, or maybe just people. "Dipper told me lots of cool stuff about you. Did you really catalogue a bunch of paranormal monsters in a series of books? That's pretty hardcore. Did you ever fight one?" This kid looked a little too stoked about the idea of fighting a supernatural creature.

"I've fought more than a few in my time, yes." Ford said, surprised that this kid was so interested in his work.

Jason looked up at Ford as if he was some mysterious rogue ghost hunter, intimidated but in a good way, hoping _maybe a monster shows up and I can see Dipper's cool uncle in action_.

"Dipper's also fought a few. In fact, he's saved my life." Ford said, trying not to take away too much attention from his nephew.

Jason's jaw almost hit the floor. "DIPPER! You never told me that! What the heck, you've been holding out on me!?"

"Oh, he's just modest. See, we were fighting this wizard that had shrunk us into game pieces. Uh, you ever heard of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons?" Ford continued when Jason nodded his head. "So Probabilitor the Annoying _himself_ had come to life, and we were tiny DD and More D pieces, and Stan, my brother, and Mabel are trying to think of weapons and moves. Neither of them had ever played before, so it was a little difficult. But Dipper fought like a champ! He sliced some ogres right in two! Why, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him." Ford said, dramatically.

Jason about had a freak out, punching Dipper's arm in excitement, and shaking him violently. "DUDE! You've gotta tell the DD and More D group at school, they'll flip!"

Meanwhile, on the dancefloor, Mabel was having the time of her life, twirling in circles with her girlfriends. She danced over to Stan and tugged on his hand, pulling him up from his chair, "I know they're not playing old man music, but you should come dance with me! I know you're good, i've seen you dance to Dipper's BABBA CD when you thought nobody was looking. And you were great at 'The Stan Wrong Song.'"

Stan hesitated as Mabel pulled him closer to the crowd of strangers dancing to new aged teeny-bopper music. "I don't know, Mabel, I don't want to outshine you." He said with false confidence. He still knew all his old moves from the seventies, but nowadays? With all the twerking and jerking and… Something about snakes? Stan didn't really care to dance much anymore.

Mabel gripped Stan's hands and swayed from side to side, having him twirl her around now and then to display the maximum poof of her dress and her bouncy curls. In that moment, she was having the time of her life, looking up at her Grunkle Stan like someone would look at their hero. "Grunkle Stan, can we throw a dance at the Mystery Shack again next summer? The first one was a lot of fun."

"Well, we did make lots of money with that dance...I don't see why not. But no silly string next time, it took me hours to get that gunk out of my shag carpeting." Stan said with a laugh. "How about we go find your brother? I have a little something to give you both, and I think that Ford's got something up his sleeve too." Stan winked, and led Mabel across the dance floor, searching for Ford and Dipper.

Dipper and Ford kept each other company by the punchbowl, the wallflowers of the event, while Sherman and Alexandria stood a table away to serve cake. Dipper waved at Mabel as she ran over, dragging Stan behind her. "Dipper, Grunkle Stan said he wanted to give us some presents!"

Dipper perked up at the mention of presents. "Really? You got us something?" He asked, looking up at Ford.

"Of course we did, Dipper. Now, let's see, where did I put… Ah, there it is!" Ford said, reaching into his coat pocket, being careful not to undo Stan's handiwork, pulling out two boxes, one wrapped in blue, the other in purple. Mabel excitedly grabbed her box, and Dipper took his delicately. They both unwrapped the paper at the same time, and gasped at the contents of the boxes.

Ford had given Dipper his own journal. Hand bound, with a blue cover and golden corner protectors. Sticking out from underneath the cover was a sheet of gold colored foil, presumably to decorate the cover with. Dipper glanced up at Ford, unsure of what to say.

"...I figured since you liked mine so much, you might want to make your own. The paper will never tear, I should know, I invented it myself." Ford said, tightening his lips into a thin line, thinking Dipper hated it. Of course he would, he admired Ford but certainly didn't want to be just like him-

Dipper lept up as high as he could, wrapping Ford's torso in as big of a hug as possible. "Thank you thank you thank you _thank you_!"

Mabel looked in her box and let out a big gasp. Ford had given Mabel what looked like another journal, in a deep purple color, but the inside was filled with high grade sketch paper, and a sheet of foil for her, too. The bottom of the box was lined with very high end colored pencils in just about every color you could imagine.

"The, uh, the wax from those colored pencils will never smear. And your paper won't tear, either." Ford said, trying to support Dipper so he wouldn't fall.

Mabel leaped up to join in on the hug, " _Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!"_ she exclaimed, "Grunkle Ford, they're so pretty, thank you so much, I love it!" Ford stumbled backwards a bit from the momentum, but lifted the two twins with ease.

Stan smiled at Ford, he enjoyed seeing Ford treat their nephew and niece with such love, even if he seemed hesitant at times. "Don't break your grunkle kids, you still have another round of presents." Stan helped the two kids hop down, and reached to pull some packages from the pocket inside his own suit jacket. He handed Dipper what looked like a squished down manila envelope, and a teeny tiny box to Mabel, both of the gifts with an envelope attached.

Dipper ripped open the packaging and pulled out a big puffy vest, like the same one he wore over the summer. This one was a little bigger, to grow into, and had a familiar pine tree logo stitched on the back, and a Mystery Shack patch sewed on the front. The vest had huge pockets, perfect to fit the journal in.

"For when you're older. That's, uh, that's hand stitchin' you know…" Stan said, trailing off. He didn't like to admit to anyone that he knew how to sew, and that he was pretty darn good at it too.

Dipper tried it on over his suit, looking like a pretty big dork as the jacket sagged down almost to his knees. He hugged Stan as tight as he could. "I love it, Grunkle Stan, It's perfect."

Mabel took the dainty ribbon off of her box and opened it slowly. It contained a beautiful necklace: A fossilized bug encased in glowing amber, laced through a gold chain. Mabel took the necklace out to inspect it and tapped Stan on the shoulder. "This is so pretty, Grunkle Stan! Would you put it on me?" She turned and held her hair out of the way.

"Of course, sweetie." Stan said, kneeling down to fix the clasp around her neck. Mabel looked down at the necklace, it was completely unique and special, a weirdly pretty gift for a weird and pretty girl. "Why don't you… uh, why don't you two open your cards?" Stan said, smiling down at the kids.

Dipper inspected the envelope attached to his gift, as his sister opened hers as well. They both smiled at the sweet cards, something definitely from the 89 cent card section at the supermarket, but inside was five hundred dollars, _each_. Normally money was given in multiples of 18, but Stan decided to go against tradition just this once. Neither of the kids had ever seen that much money from one card before, and neither had expected it to come from Stan, of all people.

"You kids put that money into a savings account, okay? Keep it close to you until your parents can take you to a bank tomorrow, and don't let anyone else know you have all that on you." Stan said. The kids were still gaping when their parents came over to inspect the commotion. When Sherman saw the amount of cash the kids had in their hands, he about fainted.

"Holy shiiieeeerman. Holy Sherman, that's what I was going to say, none of you can prove anything otherwise." Sherman glanced around the room. "Kids, who gave you all that? You need to make sure to thank them very well." Both of the twins pointed a finger at Stan, still speechless.

Sherman gave both of them a pointed look, before Dipper and Mabel finally mutter a hushed "Thank you, Grunkle Stan." They knew their grunkle as the broke cheapskate, how did he get all of this money, why was he giving the kids this _much_? The kids slowly moved towards Stan, as if moving too fast would make the money in their hands crumble to dust, and hugged him as tightly as they could, in awe of how much money there was in their hands right now. Stan held both of the kids tight, and he couldn't help but shake a little. He had saved that money for the kids all summer, and put it aside in a safe place so he made sure he never touched it. It was part of the reason he tried to be so frugal with the kids around. Well… that and one other thing. When the twins finally broke away, they put their money back in the cards and resealed the envelopes as best they could. Mabel, lacking pockets, handed her envelope to Dipper, who tucked both away inside his suit jacket. The sensation of holding that much money felt strange and heavy, but he felt he could handle the responsibility. Stan took a deep breath, standing up from where he'd been crouched down, and noticed Sherman staring at him.

"Stan, can I talk to you for a second?" He said quietly, moving off to the other side of the table, closer to the wall and away from the hubbub of the party. "... You didn't have to give them that much money, Stanley." Sherman said, leaning up against the wall.

"Yes I did." Stan said, folding his arms. "I'd planned on giving it to them from the moment they walked through my door. If they start saving now, and they need money in the _future_ , they'll have it." He wanted to provide the kids with a security fund, he knew how important money was in dire situations.

"Stan, as their father I appreciate it, I really do, but that's still a lot of money. I know you just want to look out for the kids, but-" Sherman stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly remembering what exactly Filbrick Pines had been like in life. A strict, unforgiving man who was not easily impressed. A man cold enough to kick his son to the curb, a man who saw the remaining sons as a way to earn money and little else. A man so awful and demeaning that Sherman Sr had refused to let Filbrick near his child alone. "It must've been hard…" Sherman said quietly. "Filbrick was a jerk. A capital J jerk and I wish we weren't in a synagogue or around children so I could use some stronger language. You didn't deserve what he did, and you don't deserve to be affected by it so many years later. Still, though… Five hundred dollars, for each of them?"

"I don't want the kids going through the same things I did." Stan wasn't looking at Sherman, he was scanning the crowd, eyes locking on Ford, who was being led somewhere by Alexandria. "Heh, you know, after thirty years being a homeowner, I still live like I'm on my last dollar? I rake in 60 thousand a year, easy. Hell, I've got people buying bits of broken glass as Christmas presents! But I can't stop ordering quarter sized plates at restaurants, I can't stop taking all the condiments from deli counters and shoplifting tangerines. You know, once, things got so bad I could only afford the dollar menu at McDonalds about once a week? I used to date this girl, Carla McCorkle. Love of my life. One night we snuck into the county fair, and I won a week's worth of groceries at one of the carnival booths. I was so proud of myself, it was one of the happiest days of my life. Now that I'm not shoveling every spare penny towards rebuilding the portal, I'm actually sitting on a lot right now. It's not millions, not the fortune my dad wanted from me, but it's a decent amount. I could fix up the Shack if I wanted, redo the floors, fix every leaky pipe, fix the sign on the roof. But I can't bring myself to do it. I've got this guy who works for me, his name is Soos. Great kid, fantastic kid. Best handyman I've ever had, employee of the year, every year. He always stuck by me, and I've tried to do the same for him. And some weeks it's hard for me to write out his _paycheck_ , the one I know he's earned and _then some_. I don't want those kids to _ever_ go through that."

Sherman was impressed, and moved by Stan's story. It was admirable, what Stan did, he knew. Sherman had always been happy and thankful that he could provide his children with a privileged life, a life he felt his children deserved, and he was more than willing to extend the same provisions with his estranged uncle. "Stan, Alexandria and I could never thank you enough for all you've done for the kids. All they've talked about since they came home is Gravity Falls. They've never had that sort of...grandfather figure, or even really an uncle figure, and I didn't either. Though I guess you're kind of both. Having you, and now Stanford, in our lives is a blessing." Sherman offered Stan a handshake, but got pulled into a big bear hug instead, causing Sherman to laugh.

Then he felt Stanley shaking.

 _Is he crying...?_ Sherman held his uncle and gave him a big pat on the back. Stanley couldn't begin to fathom the right thing to say. _No one over the age of twelve has said that to me in a while? No, no that's stupid. I'm glad someone in this family doesn't hate me? No, what? I'm glad you're not repulsed by my horrible old man face? Nah, he's not a little kid at the Mystery Shack. I'm sorry I didn't try to connect with the family sooner? Thanks for makin' me not feel worthless? Like I'm not garbage?_

Sherman just held Stanley tighter.

Ford kept fidgeting with his hands. He'd resolved to never hide them again, but a lifelong habit is a hard one to break. His chipped and uneven fingernails scratched and tugged at the skin near his thumbs, breaking the surface but not deep enough to bleed. Without Dipper and his friends to distract him, it felt like the crowd was getting thicker and thicker. Alexandria had been right, of course. There were far less people at the party than there had been in the service, but the number of guests was still about triple the size of a crowd at the Mystery Shack.

"Are you alright?" Someone's voice broke through the panic beginning to creep in Ford's head. He looked up to meet Alexandria's eyes. She was holding two glasses of punch, offering one to him.

"I'm fine." Ford said simply. "And thank you for the punch, but I'll have to pass." He'd been fine back at the house, with people he trusted, but in a party like this? With this many people? The only way he'd be eating or drinking _anything_ was if he made it himself.

Alexandria set one of the glasses down and sipped from the other. "I'm glad you seem to be feeling better. I think Dipper's friends love you as much as _he_ does. You've really made an impression on him, he's so inspired to do his own kinds of research… It's refreshing to see him so passionate. Before the summer began, Dipper was in a bit of a slump. He doesn't have as many friends as Mabel, and he would spend so much time alone, reading or playing one of his video games. Mabel used to have to drag him out of the house to get some fresh air. I'm glad they seem closer now, but going to Gravity Falls, and meeting _you_ is just what he needed."

Ford furrowed his brow, frowning. "I'm glad I could help. I really am. But meeting _me_? Is the last thing anyone needs."

Alexandria frowned right back, a hand on her hip. "Hey now, I _loved_ meeting you. And I'm sure it was pretty exciting for the kids. I don't think you realize just how good with them you are… Dipper identifies with you so much, you talked sense into him about wiping off that makeup this morning, and just being himself. He looks so happy today, I think he's forgotten about it. He thinks that people don't understand him, but _you_ do."

"...And you don't understand me, or what I've done. It's not good, Alexandria."

"Stanford, I don't think you're this evil villain you're making yourself out to be."

"It's… more of a Jekyll and Hyde thing…" Ford's hands were beginning to tremble, panic taking over again.

"Well, I've only met Henry Jekyll, and he's considerate, kind, and very intelligent. Maybe you were Edward Hyde at one point, but… I think you're a version that managed to find the cure. That's enough to win me and the rest of your family over." Alexandria reached for Stanford's hand slowly, holding it with one hand, patting it with the other. "You should give yourself more credit."

At this, Ford let out a dark chuckle. "Credit? Alexandria, the 'cure' that killed Hyde was performing self surgery, without an ounce of medical knowledge, and installing a metal plate in my head. I can't function like a _normal_ human being without a weapon somewhere on my body-" Ford blanched, realizing the depth of what he'd just confessed. He pulled his hand away, turning to leave as fast as possible, to just wait outside on a park bench or, better yet, steal away into the night, never to be seen again.

Alexandria fished her key ring from her purse, grabbing Ford's wrist and spinning him around before he could walk away. In addition to normal everyday keys, it was armed with a pocket knife, mace, and a pink knuckle duster in the shape of a cat, "What kind of woman in an urban city isn't armed at all times? It's a necessity, and I get where you're coming from. People like us need to be on high alert at all costs. It's an awful double standard, but when _anyone_ could be trying to kidnap you or _worse..._ " She took a deep breath. "It might not be the kind of weaponry you're talking about, but I know what it's like to be afraid of everyone you encounter in new and strange places. I do what I have to do to feel _safe_." Ford didn't say anything, not at first. His breathing was picking up, he could feel another panic attack coming on.

"...You know how earlier I said I was fine?" Ford took a second to continue, focusing on trying to keep his thoughts from racing. "...I was lying." Alexandria gave a quiet nod, gently grabbing Ford's wrist.

"Just follow me." She said, weaving them through the crowd. "Do you like open spaces or do you prefer to be indoors?"

"I-Indoors, just… away from _people_ …" Ford said, trying to focus on something, _anything_ , to keep him calm.

Alexandria swiftly led Ford out of the party, to a secluded hallway near the restrooms with a little bench and a water fountain. "I can keep a look out for you if you need some time alone." She offered.

Ford faltered, his hands still shaking, itching to grab the knife under his pant leg. There was something about Alexandria, something quiet and unassuming. Despite not knowing her for more than three days, her presence wasn't setting his instincts on fire, wasn't screaming at him to defend himself, to kill, be killed, or run. "Can... can you stay? You don't have to, I- You can go back to the party... if you want." Alexandria nodded, and for a brief moment, Ford thought she was going to leave. But no sooner than the thought popped into his head did Alexandria sit down beside him, folding her dress neatly beneath her.

"Not a problem, Stanford." She placed her purse in her lap and relaxed, knowing if she had a calm demeanor, it would be likely make Stanford feel calmer, too.

For a long while, the two sat in silence.

"You know, it's funny..." Ford whispered. "I didn't used to get this bad. A few years, that's all it took. I adapted, I wasn't as... _scared_ of everything. I learned to compartmentalize, to ignore the bad stuff, the universe was so big I didn't have _time_ to process how it affected me. Then I got back... and now it's like everything _matters_ again. When I first stepped out of the portal, I felt _fine_ , better than fine. Like after _years_ I finally found a reason to hope again, but..." Ford paused, trying to gauge whether or not Alexandria would really be able to understand, or even remotely comprehend, what he was about to say. "I can't stand the smell of freshly cut grass. I'm scared to death of it. Stan has to warn me before he goes out and mows the yard, because the last time he did it without telling me I wouldn't come down from the roof. I hate the way nylon feels against my skin, when the sky turns green during a bad thunderstorm I get so bad it makes _today_ seem like a walk in the park. It's... little things, things that I never thought I'd notice." Ford's voice was barely audible. His mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to list all the magical items that Alexandria might have on her, items to make him open up, to tell her his greatest weaknesses, but none of them could explain why the instinct in his gut, well honed after thirty years, was no longer screaming at him.

Alexandria listened with her full attention and waited for him to finish. "I know a lot of people who have little things like that. For some people, sure, it's much more serious. You've gone through so many obstacles in your life and you deal with issues the best you you can, and I think you're very strong. I couldn't imagine the way I would handle myself in your shoes, it takes a strong person to be a survivor. You're a survivor, Ford."

Ford couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow manipulating this woman, that he was luring her in with his own sob story.

"You... you would have found your way." Ford said. "The first dimension, the one I arrived in from this one? That was one of the hardest..." He was a little calmer now, no longer itching to grab his knife, his breathing a little quick but not hyperventilating. "You know, a lifetime ago, I would be telling Stan all of this? And, failing that, my... my good friend Fiddleford. But Stan hurt me, and I hurt Fiddleford, and I guess over the past thirty years I hurt Stan, too. Sometimes... I wish we could go back to the way things were... but I don't want to get used like that again... And I don't know how to fix things now. But... I'm glad I got to meet you. And I'm glad you stuck around..."

"You know, I once broke Sherman's heart. I was a really snotty girl in college. He was the sweetest nerd I had ever met, and I let him take me out on dates and buy me things, and I led him on. It took me a while to realize what I was doing was wrong, and after I broke things off I began to miss him. I felt so guilty, I was the worst. So I pulled on my big girl panties and I apologized. He didn't talk to me for about a month, and then suddenly we were friends, we started from square one. He's now my best friend and my husband, and I had to trust in him and myself, that we could communicate and make things right. That's really the key to any relationship, just being honest, and building trust. You have to have faith in the people you love."

"...I can't put my faith in anyone. Never again." Ford said. "The only person I really trust these days is Dipper. And I can't exactly vent to a thirteen year old."

"Well, I have faith in _you_. I have faith that my kids trust you, that you treat them well, and that you are good, despite your past." Alexandria said simply, looking down at her lap. "I don't know what made you put a _metal plate_ in your head-"

"You don't want to know that. Ever." Ford's voice was grave, and if he'd spoken to anyone but Alexandria Pines they would have fled.

"-But I _do_ know that it's over now, or at least under control." She finished. She opened her purse slowly, found her wallet, and produced a business card. "This has my cell phone number on it, in case you need to talk to someone who isn't my thirteen year old son." She chuckled a bit. Ford's fingers ghosted over the embossed lettering, a shiny metallic gold, with a little red vine on the left side. The card read, 'Dr. Alexandria Pines, Social Psychologist.' _So that's why I felt so...safe._

Alexandria gave Ford another smile and closed her purse. "I want to help you. Not only because it's my job, but you're my family. And if you aren't comfortable with that I could make some calls and have some recommendations for professionals closer to Gravity Falls. I can't guarantee that they'll believe you about the paranormal, but they'll at least listen." She placed a hand gently on his shoulder, "You don't have to feel scared the rest of your life. There are many people who care about you, and want to see you feel safe"

Ford didn't know what to say. A part of him wanted to run away. As much as he hated panicking at every little thing, those instincts had saved his life on more than one occasion. A part of him wanted to kick himself for not figuring out that Alexandria was a _psychologist_ of all things, a part of him still didn't trust her, didn't trust her motives behind getting inside his head.

"Just think about it. It's your decision, you don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with...How are you feeling now? I hope I haven't upset you." Alexandria tried her damnedest not to over analyze Ford in her head, thinking of hundreds of ways she could advise him in coping with his anxiety and fear. But she had dealt with people who absolutely didn't want her help, and she knew better than to force herself on a patient.

She was surprised when a six fingered hand moved to hers, gripping it tight.

"... I think... I'll call you later, to make my first appointment."

Alexandria beamed, a dead ringer for Mabel's smile, and squeezed his hand back. "Great! We can have Skype sessions, I'll be accessible over the internet, anytime." She rose from her seat, still holding her Uncle-in-law's hand. "How about we go check on the party, see if they're surviving without us?"

"... Okay, but what is Skype?" Ford asked.

"Oh, it's like a phone, but on your computer, and you can see the person on the other line. I can just call if you prefer." Alexandria said, leading Ford back towards Newman Hall. Just outside the double doors, Ford paused.

"Alexandria?" Ford quickly wrapped his arms around her, and for the first time since they'd left the house, Ford felt completely at ease. "Thank you."

Alexandria was taken aback for a moment, but returned Ford's hug, rubbing his back like she would do to comfort her own children. "You're absolutely welcome."

The party had died down quite a bit. Dipper and Mabel were chatting next to a mountain of presents, trying not to fall asleep, and slowly the party guests filtered out of the hall. Sherman and Stanley sat at an empty table, chatting over a few glasses of punch.

"Alexandria, where'd you run off to? You missed some of Stanley's… _unique_ dance moves!" Sherman laughed, standing up to hug his wife.

"Hey, those were _classic_ back in my day!"

Alexandria chuckled at the thought Stanley Pines dancing. "Stanford and I needed a little breath of fresh air, we… had fun, chatting together." She kept one hand on Ford's shoulder, silently assuring him that she'd never tell a soul about their agreement unless he asked.

Dipper and Mabel made their way over to the grown-ups table, and took a seat next to Stan and Sherman. "Grunkle Stan, I'm really happy you and Great Uncle Ford came to our party...thank you." Dipper latched onto Stanley in a sweet hug.

"Of course we came, buddy boy. We wouldn't miss it for the world." Stanley said, tousling Dipper's hair.

"You did _great_ out there. I'm so _proud_ of you." Ford said, placing a hand on Dipper's shoulder. He wanted to apologize for missing so much of his bar mitzvah, but the nagging feeling that acknowledging that fact would only make things worse won over.

Dipper smiled up at ford, hearing that Ford thought so highly of him, that he did well, was all he needed. "Thanks, Great Uncle Ford." He'd understood why Ford was absent so much, he was aware that Ford got panic attacks, but knowing that his uncle _had_ been paying attention to him was the greatest feeling in the world.

Mabel sunk in her chair and sighed "Do you guys really have to leave tonight? I wish you could stay longer."

"I wish we could, too, Mabel. But we've got Soos and Fiddleford _and_ Waddles waiting for us at home." Ford said, smiling a little. "And I'm sure Waddles will want to hear all about how you're doing, especially once I nail down the blueprints for a device that lets you talk to pigs."

Mabel giggled and hopped up to hug Ford around the waist. "Oh, Grunkle Ford, I know Waddles can understand me. He's almost as smart as you."

"Then I'll be sure to tell him you said that once we get back." He said, returning Mabel's hug.

Sherman stood up from his seat to put an arm around Alexandria, enjoying the view of their kids having a good time with their family. "I almost don't want them to leave either."

"I know what you mean, dear." She said, then turned to the grunkles. "We really did love having you. And if you're ever in the neighborhood, be sure to give us a call." Alexandria said.

Stan pried himself away from Dipper to get up from his seat. "We will, don't worry. But we probably should get going if we're gonna catch the bus back to Oregon."

"Grunkle Stan, can we call you sometime?" Mabel asked, still clinging to Ford.

"Mabel, sweetie, their number is in our cell phone. Stanley is right, they're gonna be late if we don't hurry." Sherman said, helping Mabel to her feet.

Mabel held onto her dad and slumped her shoulders "Okay, I guess you're right... But you better call us as soon as you make it back to the Mystery Shack! And when you get off the bus. And when you get ON the bus! Just call us!"

"Of course we will, sweetie." Stan said, glancing at his watch. "But we won't be able to get on the bus if we're not there."

Sherman grabbed his keys and ushered his family out of Newman Hall, with Stan and Ford helping to carry the kid's presents, out of the synagogue, and onto the sidewalk, steering them towards where they'd parked. "Your duffel's already in the back, you didn't forget anything at the house, right?"

"Even if we did, we didn't exactly take anything that we'd miss." Ford said, climbing into the backseat.

Stanley buckled in next to Ford after checking to make sure the kids were buckled in too. "Alright, let's high tail it to the Greyhound station."

"Stanley, I will _pay you_ to never say the words 'high tail it' to my husband behind the wheel of a car again." Alexandria said. "He's a bit of a reckless driver."

"How much?" Stanley raised an eyebrow leaned forward in his seat. The car lurched forward and Sherman nearly hit a trash can.

"Fifty dollars." Alexandria said.

"He's almost as bad as you, Grunkle Stan." Dipper said, gripping his seatbelt.

"Fine, I'll take it." Stanley said, only half joking. "And I'm a GREAT driver, kid, good driving doesn't always correlate with traffic laws."

"Stan, in the past two weeks you've driven into a guardrail, hit a handicapped parking sign, scraped your car against the side of a parked truck, you hit the _house_ …" Stanford was counting on his fingers.

"That truck was double parked, he had it comin'!"

"The _house_ , Stanley. You hit the _house_. The _stationary_ house that you have _lived in_ for thirty years. And you hit it. With your car."

Sherman snorted at the banter coming from the backseat. With the argument going on distracting everyone from his own bad driving, he made it to the bus station in what seemed like no time.

"You'll call us when you get there, right?" Mabel said, hugging Stanley one last time before she had to crawl back in the second row of seats with Dipper.

"Of course, sweetie." Stan said. "You call us when you get home too, alright?"

Ford opened the trunk of the van, grabbing their duffel bag with ease. "Stanley, do you have our tickets?"

"Yeah, poindexter. They're in the side pocket." A part of Stan wanted to stay in San Francisco with the kids. He could, if he wanted. He wasn't banned in California. But as much as he loved the rest of the Pines family, he had his own little bit of family waiting for him back in Gravity Falls.

As Ford was digging in the duffel for their tickets, Alexandria caught his shoulder, and wrapped her arms around his torso. "I'll talk to you later, Stanford. We love you, and we'll miss you." Ford froze, fingers clutching the tickets, and soon he felt Dipper wrapping his arms around his legs.

Sherman stood by Stanley, an arm around his uncle's shoulder.

"It was great finally meeting you. The real you." He said, smiling softly. "Thank you."

Stanley and Stanford said their goodbyes, and turned to leave, pausing a few times to check that the Pines family was still in the lot outside the station.

The kids waved from the backseat window as their Grunkles walked off to their bus, and didn't stop waving until they disappeared into the Greyhound. Mabel reached for her mom's purse grabbed the camera. "Dipper, let's look at the pictures, I wanna see how good we look!"

This late at night, the station wasn't very crowded, and Stanley and Ford were on their bus in no time. Ford took a seat next to the emergency exit, and Stan sat beside him.

"That was fun. Exhausting, but… fun." Ford said quietly, only after the bus started moving. "We'll have to invite them up for Thanksgiving. People still celebrate that… Right?"

"Yeah…" Stan said, remembering how his own meals tasted in comparison to Mabel and Alexandria's. "Are you gonna cook?"

The Pines family made their way down the interstate in their SUV, with Sherman going at an appropriate speed now that they weren't on a time crunch. Mabel and Dipper crowding around the digital camera, laughing at all of the candid pictures of party guests Alexandria managed to take.

"Look, look, look! Here's one of Grunkle Ford and Jason!" Mabel said, pointing at the screen. Jason's jaw was practically on the floor, grabbing a very confused Dipper's tuxedo, and Ford was mimicking a swordfighting technique. "It looks like Jason peed his pants."

Ford began taking the safety pins out of his trenchcoat, one by one. Stanley took both their yarmulkes and put them in his jacket pocket.

"I'm gonna miss those kids." Ford said, after a while. He closed the safety pins around each other in a chain, and put the whole thing in his pocket. "We'll have to get Soos to show us how to use that Skype thing so we can see them."

"The what?" Stanley asked, "Please don't tell me you already know more computer crap than I do."

"Alexandria was telling me about it during the party. She said it was like… a phone, but on the computer. And you can see people on the other end." Ford smiled faintly, and he briefly wondered if he should tell Stanley he was going to schedule an appointment with her. He knew Stan worried, especially after what happened when they found Fiddleford in the bunker. He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the business card in his pocket.

Alexandria dozed off in the passenger seat of the SherMobile, Sherman's free hand rested over one of hers. The kids found a picture of the whole family, taken by Jason after Mabel begged for a solid three minutes. She and Dipper were up front, their parents knelt down next to them, and Stanley and Stanford stood in the back, an arm around each other's shoulders. The SherMobile swerved up a ramp, headed for an intersection on the highway. The kids leaned towards the side from the centrifugal force.

As Mabel stared at the picture, the front seat became illuminated by oncoming headlights. Dipper's hand flew out in front of her face. She didn't notice the sound of squealing tires filled the air, or glass shattering, there wasn't even time to scream.

Sherman and Alexandria Pines bodies crumpled between the weight of their own car and the weight of the sedan that had collided with them.


	5. Stanley Pines Steals A Motherfucking Bus

9'13 14-15-20 3-18-25-9-14-7, 25-15-21'18-5 3-18-25-9-14-7

Dipper's arm was caught between Mabel's head and the driver's seat.

The sounds of shards of glass falling was all he could process. Slowly, carefully, he slid his arm free. His sister was passed out next to him, her head hanging limp, her right arm smashed against the door, the camera cracked in her hands. Dipper's arm felt like it was on fire, though to be fair he wouldn't have noticed if it was. Glancing over it, he noticed his forearm didn't look quite as straight as it was supposed to. He felt blood dribble down his cheek, from where the right side of his face had smacked into the back of the passenger seat.

The car's engine was smoking, he could smell gasoline, hear the last few hums before it would either sputter and die or catch fire, he could barely hear faint breathing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered one of Stan's old stories, about how he'd gotten into a tough wreck, he'd told him to always turn off the car after a wreck, no matter what. Dipper felt like crying, he felt like clutching his arm and he felt like getting as close to Mabel as possible and never letting go. But he slowly unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed over the console, making his way to the front seat through hazy and blurred vision. He stumbled, he could barely hold on, he'd never been this hurt before. Not even after Bill had possessed him.

He placed one hand on his father's shoulder, _oh god is that blood what happened is he going to be alright?! No Dipper, focus, none of you will be alright if you don't_ _ **turn off the car**_ _,_ using him as a support to steady himself as he reached towards the ignition, turning off the car with a soft _click_.

No one stirred. It was only Dipper who was still conscious.

He had to get help. He was losing blood, and the pain in his arm wasn't helping. He had to get to a phone, he had to get to the phone he knew was in his mom's purse and call someone.

Alexandria's purse was caught on the gearshift, the clasp had come open in the crash, and the contents spilled out over the floorboards. Crouching down low, ignoring the gearshift poking into his abdomen, Dipper prayed that her cell phone wasn't caught between the seats, and reached into the darkness, fumbling through chapsticks and business cards and pens. After what felt like an eternity, his fingers brushed over the smooth screen of her cell phone. It lit up at his touch, _thank goodness, its charged, it's not broken._ He was getting woozy, black dots danced around the corners of his vision. His mind was getting hazy, he'd pass out any second. Who he supposed to call again? Who was on speed dial? Who'd always saved them in the past?

Stanley had almost dozed off on the bus. Ford was too agitated to rest, and his twitching leg was enough to keep Stan from actually sleeping. He was about to tell Ford to either knock it off or at least switch to the other leg, when he felt the old Nokia in his pocket start to vibrate.

Sitting up in his seat, he squinted through his glasses to read the caller ID, clearing his throat once he realized who it was.

"Hey, Alexandria. What, do the kids miss us already?" Stan asked, giving out a slight chuckle. The mention of Alexandria's name had caught Ford's attention, and he turned to face Stan, wanting to talk to the kids if they were on the other line.

"... _Grunkle Stan?_ " Dipper's voice, barely a whisper, choked through the other end of the line. The hairs on the back of Stanley's neck stood on end. Something was very, very, _wrong_.

"Hey, kiddo… what's going on? Where are you?"

" _H-help… There was a c-car crash… we're at the… loopy thing…_ "

The phone went silent.

Then Stan heard the phone fall to the floor on the other end of the line.

"Kid? Kid?! Come on, Dipper, answer me! You still there?! _Where. Are. You_." Stan was frantic now, and Ford picked up on it easily.

"What happened? Where's Dipper? Are they alright?" Ford asked, grabbing Stan's shoulders.

"Dipper said they'd gotten in a wreck, something about a loopy thing. Move." Stan was on his feet now, trying to push past Ford.

"What are you doing?" Ford asked, moving his feet out of the way so Stanley could get by. Stan reached into the duffel bag in Ford's lap, pulling out the memory gun and aiming it at the ceiling.

He fired three shots.

"Alright, listen up! We're turning this goddamn bus around and heading back to San Francisco! Don't get in our way, don't call the cops, and no one gets hurt with this very _real, very lethal, science gun_." Stan was screaming, pointing the gun at random people on the bus, trying to get them as far away from him and his brother as possible. "Hey, Ford? You think you can get the radio on this thing to pick up a police frequency?" The passengers were screaming, their eyes darting between Stanley and the three scorch marks on the ceiling left by the memory gun.

"Yeah." He said, quietly. "You take the wheel, I'll handle the gun." Stan nodded, and handed the gun to Ford, knowing he'd be much more intimidating with it than he was.

"Everyone on this bus: Shut. Up." Ford said, his voice as deep and booming as he could make it.

The entire bus went quiet. A man in the back shat his pants.

"You, bus driver man. Switch places with my brother." Ford said, aiming the gun towards the bus driver. "Or else I'll use this…" Ford paused, thinking of a more intimidating but plausible name for the memory gun. " _Laser ray_ to blow a hole through your head."

The driver pulled over on the side of the road and put his shaking hands up. He couldn't have been much older than Ford was, and his wrinkled face was washed white with terror. Stan took the wheel of the bus and sped down the interstate, in the opposite direction.

"None of you leave this bus, none of you alert the authorities, none of you tell _anyone_ what's happened here today, and you'll all make it home a little later than scheduled." Ford said, keeping the gun hand trained on his new hostages, and setting to work on the bus' radio with one hand. "Stan, when we get this thing patched into a police frequency, what exactly are we looking for?"

"Car crash, probably on an intersection or an exit ramp to the interstate. Dipper said something about a loopy thing." Stan said, eyes on the road, doing some of the best driving he'd ever done in his life. "There's a ramp between the synagogue and their house, I'm just gonna head for that until you say otherwise. We gotta get there fast so we can call an ambulance, or hope someone else finds them first."

"Got it!" Ford said, clipping wires with his teeth in lieu of any actual tools, keeping the memory gun aimed at the passengers at all times. Stan pressed the gas pedal as close to the floor as he dared, weaving in and out of traffic.

He had to reach them in time.

It wasn't long before they found the site of the crash, on the exact ramp Stanley thought it'd be on. The sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance, and for once Stan and Ford welcomed them. The first thing they'd seen to indicate that they were in the right spot was a small middle aged woman standing in the middle of the road below the ramp, waving her arms to get them to stop.

"Alright, Stan, go out and check if we're in the right spot. I'll hold the passengers here until you get back." Ford said. Stan practically vaulted out the door, and nearly collided with the woman outside.

"Sir, I'm sorry about the trouble, but there was a really bad wreck on this ramp! I already called for help, but you'll have to find another way around!"

"Lady, I don't give a damn about the ramp, I just need to know who was in the wreck! Was it two kids? Twins? One with a birthmark on his forehead? Looks like the- Looks like the big dipper?" Stan had the smaller woman by the shoulders, shaking her. "Please, that might be my _family_ on that ramp!" An ambulance was already at the scene, having come from another direction. Stan could see the flashing lights, hear the paramedics voices.

The woman almost shrieked "I don't know! There was so much blood...! I think there were children!"

"And you're not trying to help them?!" Stan said, shoving past her, ignoring any answer she might have given, and running up towards the ramp. "FORD! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!" He called over his shoulder. He caught sight of the ambulance, of gurneys and medical equipment, letting out a breath of relief. They might be okay.

Ford pointed the gun back at the driver, picking up the duffel. "Turn around, get back on your route. This. Never. Happened." He set the memory gun to read 'the past twenty minutes' and fired. When he was done, and the screams died out, Ford slowly backed out of the bus, and waited for them to leave before he went up the ramp. If this wasn't the right wreck, he and Stan would just have to steal another car.

By the time he got up the ramp, a police car and two more ambulances had arrived on the scene. Two police officers were holding Stan back, away from the wreck.

"That's my _family_ in there! My nephew and his wife and kids, let me through, god damnit!" Ford's heart sank as he saw the ambulance lights reflected in Stan's tears.

Paramedics could be seen pulling out two small children from the crushed vehicles, they looked limp and frail as they were placed on gurneys. Two other figures were pulled away, mangled and soaked in blood. _Oh god._

"Officers." Ford said, tucking the gun into his trench coat before they noticed he was armed. "What happened? Are they going to be alright? Where are they being taken?"

"There was a head on collision between that sedan and the SUV. Someone lost control of their vehicle, and they crashed head on. The EMTs are assessing the victims, But I can't tell you where they're going to be taken until you can prove you are who you say you are." One officer, the younger one, said, struggling to hold Stan down. Beads of sweat were dripping down her face, and it was taking all her willpower to stop herself from tazing Stan to stop his struggling.

Stan immediately pulled his wallet out, and showed his ID, and pictures of the kids. "I'm Stan Pines, Sh-Sherman and Alexandria Pines are in the-there, and their kids Dipper and Mabel, here's their picture!" The wallet sized photos shown off Dipper and Mabel, a few included Stan and Ford in the frame as well. "They're my family, the _only_ family I've got. You've gotta tell me where they're going!" The ambulance sirens blared, heading down the ramp and towards a hospital.

"Sir, sir calm down. They're being taken to San Francisco General Hospital. We can give you an escort." The other officer said. She'd been on the force longer than her partner, and knew exactly what to do with family members at these kinds of wrecks.

"We… actually ran here. On foot. We don't have a car." Ford said, shifting the duffel beneath him, praying that the officers didn't perform a search.

"I'll give you a ride in the squad car, we'll follow the ambulance." The younger officer said, releasing Stanley from her vice grip. She walked over to the police car, opening the back door.

Stan had never been so eager to get into the back seat of a police car in his life. He almost held his wrists out to be cuffed, out of pure instinct. Ford climbed into the police car next to Stan, the duffel bag between them, and they were off.

With the sirens blaring, they reached the hospital in about five minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

The ambulances had gotten there first, and wheeled gurneys out. The twins shared one, their little faces splattered with blood, they looked eerily peaceful. Sherman and Alexandria followed, each on their own gurney. But by the time Stan and Ford arrived, the only ambulance left was unloading a fourth gurney, one whose passenger was already covered with a sheet and headed towards the mortuary, but that person wasn't part of their family, so they went ignored.

"Alright, here's a number for a cab if you need a ride back." The older officer said as she parked the car. Stan and Ford didn't bother to take the offered slip of paper. Stan just called out a thank you over his shoulder as he and his brother sprinted inside, trying to find a nurse, to find someone with word on their family's conditions.

The waiting room was packed, and noisy, and the cold damp fragrance of lysol masked the stench of blood and disease. Stan didn't care, he just ran towards the receptionist, Ford following close behind.

"You! Yeah, you. You know where the Pines are? Dipper and Mabel Pines? Sherman and Alexandria Pines? I'm Stan, I've got my ID on me, you can check, please just tell me where they are! Are they going to be alright?"

The receptionist looked, frankly, bored, and took her time looking up the information. She'd dealt with too many similar worried family members to muster up proper sympathy. "Sherman Pines and Alexandria Pines are in the ICU, and the two children are in the ER right now, they'll probably be moved to the children's ward. But I can't let you go back without a doctor or a nurse escorting you."

It took every ounce of self control Stan had to not tell the pale and gangly receptionist to go fuck herself. "Then get me a doctor." He said through gritted teeth.

Before Stan could raise his voice, a nurse popped out of the double doors on the far side of the room, saw Ford, and addressed the two men. "Sirs, are either of you Stan Pines?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm… We're both Stan Pines. Stanley and Stanford Pines." Stan said, almost too quickly. He pulled out his wallet again, showing the nurse his ID.

"One of the children from the crash is awake, and is asking for their...'Grunkles.' Said one of you would have six fingers. If you would follow me, I can update you on your family's condition." She said.

Stan grabbed Ford by the wrist and followed the nurse through the ER, but not before giving the receptionist a dirty look.

"Dipper has a broken arm and he hit his head pretty hard. We're still trying to determine if he has a concussion or not. Mabel fell unconscious, and has a broken nose, but she's responsive. She wanted me to come get you." The nurse said, her pale green scrubs scuffing against the linoleum.

"What about their parents? Sherman and Alexandria Pines? Are they going to be alright?" Ford asked.

"I'm afraid they're in a more serious condition. We have a different set of nurses and doctors work on them so I'll have to go get some more up to date information." The nurse said, guiding them to a small room and opening the door. "My name is Andrea, if you have any questions, send for me, or press the call button and a nurse will come as soon as possible."

Stan's heart nearly broke when he saw Mabel's fluttering eyelids, Dipper's prone and unconscious body, a cast around his arm. Andrea began tending to him once more, checking that the IV drip was still working. Mable spoke in a faint voice, muffled by fatigue and the splint over her broken nose.

"...Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Ford? ...I'm scared." Stan was immediately by her side, his big hands gently holding Mabel's tiny, fragile ones.

"Sweetie, it's going to be alright. You're going to be fine, you just hit your head, it's just a broken nose. You'll feel better soon, they're here to help you. We're not gonna leave your side." Stanley forced a smile, but it didn't hide the tears in his eyes.

Mabel's fancy hairstyle was mussed up and matted, and her makeup all smeared. _She'd worked so hard on it, too, this was supposed to be a good day, dammit,_ Stan couldn't help but think. Mabel began to cry when she saw the tears in Stan's eyes. "Grunkle Stan, are you gonna s-stay here? Are mom and dad o-okay?"

"Mabel, I swear, your parents will be okay." Ford said, kneeling beside his niece. "I will do _everything_ in my power to make sure of that." The wheels in his mind were already turning, already thinking of a plan. He was no doctor, but in the past thirty years he'd learnt a lot from other dimensions. Ones with more… advanced medical care, that he hoped to be able to recreate.

"Stanley Pines?" Andrea tapped Stan on the shoulder, holding Dipper's bloodied suit jacket in her hand. "Dipper was wearing this, we found two cards with quite a bit of money inside, you might want to hold on to this for safe keeping."

"I don't give a da- I don't care about the money." Stan nearly kicked himself for coming so close to swearing in front of Mabel, but he'd never been more sincere in his life. "Shouldn't you be helping Dipper?"

"His IV is working fine, his bandages are fine, he hit his head pretty hard: right now all we can do is wait for him to wake up." Andrea said. "In the meantime, I'm going to get word on their parent's' condition." She slowly walked out the door, not wanting to disturb the two men in front of her. "I'll be back shortly." She broke into a run the second she cleared the doorframe.

"...Stanley, I need you to stay here with the kids. If Andrea comes back, tell her I went to the restroom." Ford said after a long moment

"Grunkle Ford, where are you going? Are you coming back...?" Mabel faintly pleaded, gripping Stan's hand as hard as she could.

"Of course I'm coming back, Mabel." Ford sighed, unsure how to explain his plan to Mabel. "...Let's just say… I've learned a thing or two about medicine in the past thirty years." He said, taking hold of her other hand and squeezing it tight. "I… I love you, Mabel. I'll be back. I promise."

Mabel tried her hardest to squeeze back and winced. "I love you too, Grunkle Ford." She pulled up her scratchy hospital blanket with a whimper. Ford gave her a small smile, before pulling his hand away. He reached into the duffel bag on the ground, pulled out the memory gun, and ran out the door, heading back to the emergency room.

He stuck near the walls, avoiding the receptionist, until he found a sign pointing towards the maternity ward. He sprinted down the hallway until he ran into a doctor.

"Excuse me, doctor! My granddaughter is about to be born! I'm looking for Sandra Jimenez's room!" Ford said, the name of the Gravity Falls local news reporter rolling off his tongue in the lie.

"Oh, well I'm not sure where she'd be. But I just got done delivering a baby, so I've got some free time to- ugh!" The doctor grunted as Ford clasped his hands over his mouth, pulling the doctor down the hall, towards a nearby restroom, kicking the door open. Ford shoved the doctor against the wall, pinning his arms behind his back with ease. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves for what he'd have to do next, praying that he remembered the incantation correctly, that the spell worked despite the metal plate in his head.

" _Sllepslive ykoopslleps liveykoops sllepsykoops_ "

And suddenly he wasn't in his own body. Well, he was still technically in his own body, but he could see out of both his and the doctor's eyes. When he thought to move one of the doctor's arms, it moved, and when he thought to move one of his own arms, it moved. It was as if he inhabited two bodies at once. He shuddered, knowing that it had been Bill who gave him the spell in the first place, and knowing that its side effects were a thousand times worse than anything his own mind control tie inflicted, but he had to get into Sherman and Alexandria's room somehow.

He took a deep breath, willed the doctor's body out of the bathroom, and used his own body to barricade himself inside, hoping that no one disturbed him.

He'd need to focus.

Now that he was in the doctor's body, and looking at his nametag Ford realized that his name was Abram Sanders, Ford was able to move freely throughout the hospital. He ran back towards the ER, walking straight up to the receptionist.

"I'm Dr. Sanders from the Maternity Ward. Andrea sent for me, the patient Alexandria Pines appears to be pregnant and they need my consultation on how to proceed. I'll need her room number." Ford lied as convincingly as he could, hoping that Sanders and the receptionist, Jessica, he noticed, were on amicable terms.

"Of course, Dr. Sanders. Alexandria Pines is in the ICU, room 35." Ford sprinted past the receptionist, following the signs until he came to the ICU, bursting through the door, catching the attention of the team of struggling doctors and nurses' attention.

"Sanders? What are you doing here?" Andrea said. "Neither of these patients are pregnant."

"Andrea, I appreciate you going to get information on these patients for the Pines family, but I need you to leave now." Ford said, pushing the small nurse aside. "Go back to Dipper and Mabel." Ford stood over Alexandria's body. Even without having seen the wreck, he could tell by the severity of her injuries that the airbags in the van had failed to engage. These doctors likely thought the case was hopeless, and were waiting to break the news to the rest of the family as gently as possible. Deep, long cuts littered Alexandria's body, Ford could see a bright red burn mark from where her skin had scraped against the seat belt. Her head was the worst of all; she'd clearly flewn through the windshield. He turned to face Sherman, who hadn't fared much better. The steering wheel had saved Sherman from a lot of head trauma, but both of his legs were broken, likely crushed between the weight of the two cars, and the glass from the broken windshield had done a number on him as well. Ford had definitely seen and experienced worse, but he knew that without the proper tools, this wouldn't be easy.

"Everybody in this room, listen up. I'm going to tell you what I need you to get me, and you're going to get it for me. Got it?" Ford said. But Sander's voice wasn't as intimidating as Ford's, he didn't hold the same command over the doctors as he had on the bus passengers.

"Sanders, these aren't your patients. You can't be here!" Andrea said, refusing to leave.

"If I don't do this, they'll _die_ , I can't let that happen! If you're worried about a lawsuit, I can _fucking guarantee_ you that there won't be one. Now shut up and get me some phenelon, radixodrene, and nouver." Andrea hesitated, before something clicked in her mind, and she rushed off to get Ford the supplies he needed.

"Sanders, I don't know how you came up with this shit but if it works…" She said, handing Ford three small bottles. Ford was silent, setting to work treating their wounds, wracking his brain for ingredients and chemical formulas, _anything_ that would help Sherman and Alexandria.

"Incredible, it's almost like the lacerations never happened." Ford barely registered one of the doctors say.

"I need stralon and neodol!" He shouted. He might have fixed the cuts, but he still needed to work on their broken bones, and check for internal bleeding.

"Someone get him some stralon and neodol! Sanders is on fire! Hey, grab Johnston from surgical, he's gonna wanna see this!" A nurse shouted. Ford ignored them. As long as they weren't getting in his way, and as long as they kept getting him the supplies he needed, they could strip naked and summon Bill Cipher himself for all Ford cared.

He had to save them.

Slowly, carefully, he sliced Sherman's leg open, putting all the bits and pieces of bone in place, and applying a mixture of the neodol and phenelon to help set the bone, before resealing the cut with stitches and the stralon and nouver mixture. Sherman would likely walk with a limp for the rest of his life after a cut like that, but he'd be _alive_ , and that's what mattered to Ford.

"Holy shit! Holy fucking shit!" Ford heard Andrea scream. He wasn't paying attention to that. He was paying attention to the Alexandria's heart monitor, he was paying attention to her face.

Her eyes were opening.

"Alexandria? Alexandria Pines, can you hear me?" Another doctor, Johnston from surgical, apparently, asked. When Alexandria nodded, Ford's heart lept. _They're going to be okay._ Sherman awoke not too many moments after that.

"... _Where's... the kids?_ " Sherman's voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible, but it was _there_. A few nurses crowded around the couple, filling them in on what happened, on what Sanders had done.

"Dr. Sanders, the fact that you got them conscious again is a miracle!" Andrea said, hugging Ford in Sanders' body. "How did you know that stuff would work?!"

"Thirty years of experience. They've got massive internal bleeding. If they ingest a mixture of pronomic, verbacron, and xolon within the hour, that should get the bleeding down enough to do a successful blood transfusion and make a full recovery!" Ford couldn't help but smile. He'd done it. He'd saved them, they were going to be _alright_.

"...Dr. Sanders… What… What the heck is xolon?"

Oh no.

God.

No, not now.

"Xolon? Maybe… Maybe you call it something different in this dimension…" Ford was racking his brain, trying to remember the chemical formula.

"Doctor… Did you say… This _dimension?_ " Alexandria asked, her voice tiny and hoarse, but Ford ignored her.

"It… It should be two parts prosmanium, three parts rubidium, uh-"

"Dr. Sanders, prosmanium doesn't exist. That's… that's not a real element." Andrea said, looking at Ford like he was a madman.

"No, are you sure?! It has to exist, it's atomic number 219 on the periodic table!" Ford was screaming, he knew what to do, thirty years in hellish nightmare realm after hellish nightmare realm had to have been good for _something_ he couldn't fail now, _they needed him_.

"Sanders, are you feeling well? Atomic number 118 is the highest the periodic table goes, 219 hasn't been discovered yet." Andrea was looking at him, concerned. "Maybe the stress of working all night got to you."

"No, no I'm fine, if we don't stop the bleeding they'll _die_ they've lost too much, oh god-" Ford was hyperventilating, he had to calm down, he had to think things through. There had to be a way to get prosmanium in this dimension, _somehow_. There was, in fact. He could build an atomic generator, yes, synthesize the element, he could just _make_ prosmanium he knew how. He would rebuild the portal and fling himself through it if he thought he could get back in time.

But Sherman and Alexandria didn't have that much time.

He'd never make it before they died.

It was hopeless.

"Doctor, you bought them a few hours. Right now the best we can do is try another blood transfusion, make them comfortable, and give their family a chance to say goodbye. What you've done here could set the surgical field on the path to saving billions of lives! I don't know how you did it, but you're going to be famous!" Andrea had pulled Ford over to the side, hoping to calm the doctor down. Ford felt like he was going to be sick. Without a word, he willed Sanders' body out of the room, running down the hall back to the maternity ward.

Getting pulled back into his own body felt like a punch to the gut.

Dr. Sanders was shaken, to say the least. The way he looked at Ford, the fear in his eyes, made something it Stanford's gut curdle. Slowly, Ford reached into his pocket, pulling out a pen. With the hope gone from his eyes, Ford wrote down exactly the steps he'd taken to try and save Sherman and Alexandria.

Though he'd failed, the least he could do was make sure someone eventually figured out how to save them.

Set the medicinal field up for saving billions of lives.

But not the two that _mattered_.

When Sanders tried to leave, tried to run away, Ford pinned him against the side of the bathroom wall again. He pulled out the memory gun once more, and set it to 'possession spell.'

Doctor Abram Sanders walked out of that bathroom a confused medical genius.

Ford stayed behind, too numb to move, until he heard a frantic knocking on the door.

"Poindexter, you in there?! They- Sherman and A-Alexandria… They-" Stanley rambled a mile a minute, he knew that the Pines parents were awake due to some medical miracle from a maternity doctor no less, and that had his brother written all over it. "What did you _do,_ how did you- Ford, you've gotta… We've gotta _go_."

Slowly, Ford opened the door, completely drained.

"Stanley… I'll… I'll tell you how I did it later… Right now, you're right. We've got to be there for them. We need to take the kids to say," Ford's breath hitched. "To say _goodbye_."

"Yeah, that's why I'm here. Andrea came back and wheeled them over already. I came to get you." Stanley said.

Ford nodded, his eyes glazed over with exhaustion and regret, and followed his brother to Sherman and Alexandria's room.

Dipper was awake, thank goodness. He was next to his father, as far forward in the wheelchair as he could get. Dipper's arms were wrapped around his father's torso, his body shaking with tears. Sherman had a tired and heavy arm over his son, idly running his fingers through Dipper's hair. Something caught in Ford's throat, realizing that this would be the last time this happened.

One of the doctors had helped Mabel crawl up into her mother's hospital bed, curled up against her despite the scary gauze and cuts and stitches. Mabel buried her face against her mother, she knew that Alexandria didn't have long. "Mom… does it hurt?"

Stan no longer held his tears back, he stood in the corner of the room and let himself cry quietly. Ford could see his brother's body shake with silent sobs.

"No, honey. It doesn't hurt." Alexandria lied.

"You're gonna come back, right?" Dipper asked his father. "You could… You could come back as ghosts… Ford could bring you back, we can… this doesn't have to be forever." Big wet tears were falling from his face. "Please, don't go…"

Mabel peeked over her mother's frail body to watch her brother and her father. "Its not fair. You can't _leave_ , Dad, it's not fair!"

For a long time, they sat like that, crying.

As Sherman and Alexandria got closer to death's door, Stan helped Ford move their beds closer together. So they could be near each other in their final moments, near their children. Both Dipper and Mabel were laying next to their mother and father, too tired to cry anymore, numb from physical pain.

"Mom?" Dipper asked, quietly, his face scrunched with despair.

"Yes, Lamby?" Alexandria whimpered.

"R-remember when… At Hannukah last year, you asked me to do the lamby lamby dance? And… And I said no and we got in- we got in a fight? I-I'm sorry, mom… I-I'm so sorry."

"Oh, Dipper, don't be sorry. Even though you're a man now, dance or no dance, you'll always be my little Lamby. I love you, and your sister both."

Sherman began to cry again, almost unable to catch his breath. "Mabel, Dipper, we're proud of you. You're so good."

Stan rushed over when Sherman's heart rate started to increase.

"I've…" Sherman gasped for breath. "I've still got a little fight in me." He managed to crack a smile, despite himself.

"Stanford, Stanley. I need… I need you to do something for me." Alexandria whispered. Ford was at her side immediately.

"Anything. You name it. Whatever it is we'll do it, I swear it." Ford was shaking, tears running down his face. He'd failed them, and they'd likely never know it.

"I need you two… to take care of the kids." She whispered. "I know… You don't think you can, but… I trust you. I know you two can do this." Ford couldn't speak, the thick grief in his throat wouldn't let him. "I know you… think you're bad… but you're _not_ …"

Ford wanted to tell her just how wrong she was.

"I know that was you, that got us awake again." Her voice was soft and tiny, but unmistakable. Ford didn't dare ask how she knew, how she'd figured it out. Her last moments should be spent on her children, not him.

"I will. I'll take care of them, and I'll… I swear, I'll get you back. Stan and I will get you _both_ back." And in that moment Ford understood completely what Stan had gone through thirty years ago. There wasn't a bone in his body that wouldn't go to the ends of this earth or any other to get these two back.

Mabel was sobbing again, almost hyperventilating. "You're not gonna die, mom, not forever! Grunkle Ford is going to fix this!" Alexandria ran her fingers through her daughter's hair.

Stanley was gripping Sherman's hand, almost too tightly, tears still leaking down his face.

"Stanley… I wanted to say… Thank you. For everything."

Dipper gripped his father's hospital gown and held his tears back, he wanted to be strong for his family.

"Dipper, Mabel, we love you. And we love Stanley and Stanford, too."

Sherman and Alexandria's monitors started to speed up, and Andrea reappeared, planning on removing the sobbing children to get a look at the parents. Stanley and Stanford managed to shoo her away for a little longer, to let the kids stay a little bit longer. Everyone knew there was nothing that could be done.

Slowly, Sherman's hand fell.

Alexandria's followed soon after.

The sharp tone of the heart monitor was the only thing that could be heard in the room after that.

Stanley scooped Dipper up in his arms, and Ford grabbed Mabel. Each twin clung to their Grunkle as best they could. They hid their faces, unable to bear looking at their own dead parents.

Stanley was crying.

Ford felt numb.


	6. Makeshift Shiva

19-8-5-18-13-1-14 1-14-4 1-12-5-24-1-14-4-18-9-1 23-9-12-12 2-5 4-5-1-18-12-25 13-9-19-19-5-4

Stan's fingers were too fat to dial the number properly.

Or at least, that's what he kept telling himself.

Finally, he managed to dial the Mystery Shack's line. Soos picked up almost immediately.

"Mr. Pines! Where are you? Are you alright? Mr. McGucket and I waited at the bus station but you never showed up!" Soos was worried and panicking.

"Soos… Soos I need you to take the Stanley Mobile and… I need you to take some cash from the register, grab my checkbook, and come down here. Its an emergency."

"I'm on my way right now!" Soos said, grabbing some money from the register, a quick bag, and Stanley's keys and checkbook on the other line. "San Francisco, right?"

"Yeah, Soos… Just… Just promise me one thing?" Stanley felt tears prickling behind his eyes again.

"Anything, Mr. Pines."

"Drive _safe_." Stanley slumped against the wall, hanging up the cell phone. Sherman's house felt empty without its occupants, but he and Ford had nowhere else to go until Dipper and Mabel got out of the hospital, and the Pines' affairs were in order. Stan hoped against hope that Soos would make it all right. If _anything_ happened to him...

Stan walked around the empty house, trying to find Sherman's office, hoping those young kids, _oh god they were so young they didn't deserve this oh god,_ had made a will. Eventually he came across their office, and luckily enough, Sherman and Alexandria were prepared for the worst. Stan found their will in one of Sherman's drawers, and sat on the floor to read it, not daring to take Sherman's office chair.

Ford wasn't faring much better.

He'd tried and failed to save Sherman and Alexandria. He wasn't going to fail those kids. Stanford Pines had sat in the living room, fidgeting with Alexandria's business card, staring at the clock until visiting hours at the hospital started up again. The second they did, Ford was gone. He sat all day with the kids. None of them spoke, none of them wanted to. The coloring books given to Mabel by the hospital were all blank, the books for Dipper to read were untouched. Sometimes, their friends from school would visit, but Ford paid the other visitors no heed. Not even when Stanley came by around mid afternoon.

Dipper and Mabel's beds were pushed together, the only thing separating them were the pesky guard rails. Mabel held Dipper's good hand. They hadn't been this close since their summer began, and it hurt to see that death would bring them close again.

When visiting hours were over, it was only Dipper and Mabel's tired faces that convinced Ford to leave their side. He had to let them rest.

Stanley worried about Ford, walking home alone through San Francisco. He had to remind himself that Stanford was not the same fighter he had been thirty years ago, Stanford could easily take down anything San Francisco had to throw at him. Still, Stanley couldn't disguise the relief in his voice when Ford returned unharmed.

"...Ford?" Stan asked, over untouched and lukewarm ramen noodles. The dinner was just a formality, neither of them were going to eat that night.

"...Yes, Stan?"

"What did you do? To get-" Stan's breath caught in his throat, and he had to force back tears. "To get Sherman and Alexandria those extra couple of hours?"

"You don't want to know, Stanley." Ford almost cut his brother off, he wasn't about to admit to the terrible things he had done only to have failed.

"Poindexter, _please_. Tell me." Stanley asked, desperation in his voice. He needed something to latch onto as a distraction. Ford didn't want to admit what he'd done… but at this point, he had nothing to lose.

"A long time ago… I found… this cave painting. The inscription spoke of a being with answers, one whose help came at a terrible price." Ford's breath was shaky, his voice hoarse. "I had hit a snag in my investigation of Gravity Falls… and I was _desperate_."

"Oh god, you _didn't_." Stanley had a feeling he could tell where this was going. Even Stanley was smart enough not to go reading spooky scary shit written in blood or whatever on cave walls.

"I _did_." Ford said, despair in his voice. "It's the biggest regret of my life. It summoned… It summoned an ancient dream demon known as Bill Cipher." Ford paused, almost too tired to go on.

"Well?" Stanley looked at him expectantly.

"He seemed _nice_ , at first. Said he was a _muse_ , that he chose one brilliant mind a century to inspire. Biggest load of shit I ever fell for. He was truly a _demon_. I was blinded by his flattery and games, and so… I struck a deal with him."

"You did _what?_ " Stanley was incredulous. He was about to go on, when he noticed Ford flinch. "Look, just… tell me what happened next."

"He said he'd help me unlock the secrets of the universe… and in return, I-I… I gave him my body and my _mind_." Ford's hands covered his face, trying to hide, trying to avoid telling Stan this. He'd told Dipper as an act of solidarity, and even then he'd left out the _really_ bad stuff. Stan? Stan was old enough to work out for himself what really happened.

"...Ford you don't have to tell me any more about this Bill guy." Stan said. Ford's story had abusive relationship written all over it, and Stan wasn't about to make Ford feel uncomfortable or worse, guilty, because of that fact. All that was flashing through Stan's mind now was the way his brother looked thirty years ago. Disheveled, afraid, sleep deprived and paranoid. "I still don't understand though, Ford. How did you get away with playing doctor?"

"Because a long time ago, Bill gave me a possession spell. An incantation to use to control the mind of anyone, one time only. And the side effects are a million times worse than the mind control tie. I knew how to save them, I _could_ have saved them, and whatever after effects the spell had would have been worth it." Ford's breath hitched, tears leaking down his face, still hidden by his hands. "Turns out this dimension doesn't have the right ingredients."

"You did all that to save them..." Stanley had heard what the doctors were saying about this medical miracle over and over. "Ford... You did all you could. You let the kids say goodbye, you're a hero."

Hearing _Stanley,_ of all people, say that made Ford feel a thousand times worse.

Soos arrived in San Francisco later that evening, his Abuelita's old floral luggage in tow.

"Mr. Pines? Dr. Mr. Pines? Are you two doods alright?" Soos said when Stan answered the door. "Where are the kids?"

"Soos...you might wanna sit down." Stan did his best not to let his voice shake. He sat down in front of Soos on the couch in the living room. "They were in an accident after dropping us off at the bus stop. The kids and their parents got in a bad wreck on the interstate..." Stan paused to take a deep breath. "The kids have a couple broken bones, but their parents died. The doctors did all they could to save them, but they lost so much blood, an' transfusions weren't working'... So we're going to have a funeral and take the kids back to Gravity Falls. Soos, Ford can't drive worth shit. He acts like he can but he can't. It's been thirty goddamn years since-" Stan sighed. "I need you to help me move the kid's stuff up to the Shack."

"Mr. Pines... I'm so sorry." Soos began to tear up, wanting to hug Stan with all of his might. "I'll help you, dude, those kids are my family too..." Soos put a hand on Stan's shoulder, and to his surprise, Stanley didn't push him away.

No, instead, Stanley threw his arms around Soos, wrapping him in a hug. Soos gave Stanley the biggest bear hug of his life, gripping Stan like he couldn't let go. His heart sank when he felt Stanley shaking beneath him, and tiny teardrops fell on the back of his shirt. He'd never seen Stanley this torn up in his life. Not when the hyperrealistic wax duplicate of Stan was destroyed. Not even when they almost lost the Shack and had to send the kids home early. Soos held Stan in silence for a while, letting his own tears fall. "Mr. Pines… can I see Dipper and Mabel? Tomorrow, I mean."

"Of course." Stan said, without hesitation. "Of course you can, Soos. We'll all go together."

"Good… thanks, Mr. Pines. I'm here for you and Dr. Mr. Pines no matter what." Soos gave Stan one last squeeze. "Are you dudes hungry? I was gonna stop at a drive thru but I wanted to get here as quick as possible."

"...Nah. We're not hungry." Stan said quietly, glancing at Ford. "There's some ramen or whatever leftover from dinner. S'in the pot."

Sherman and Alexandria's funeral was held a few days after that, once the kids had gotten well enough to attend. Mabel couldn't find something black to wear, so Ford had gone out and purchased a simple black dress from a department store, as well as a cloak for himself. It fit well, to Mabel's surprise, but she hated how mature she looked in it. Dipper had no problem dressing for the funeral, and did so quickly, wanting to get it over with. The service had been short, traditional. Dipper and Mabel wouldn't remember most of it. No, they were too focused on those last few hours spent with their parents to pay much attention to the funeral. When it was over, Stanley and Ford each grabbed a trembling twin, and Soos drove them back to the house.

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked. They were in the car, Stan sitting between Dipper and Mabel in the back seat, an arm around each of them, protecting them. "...What are we gonna do about Shiva?"

"I'll go ahead of you guys, to help Fiddleford prepare the house since he doesn't know how. I'm sorry, kids. But we can't afford to keep both houses up and running for much longer." Ford said, softly. He was drained after the week's events. "It'll be okay…"

Dipper picked at the bright green of his cast. "So we're gonna move back to Gravity Falls... When do we have to go back to school?" Being orphaned was bad enough, but being at a new school was a whole other traumatic experience Dipper could barely handle.

"...You don't have to right away. I have a PhD, I'm more than qualified to homeschool you until you're ready." Ford closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, concentrating on not letting his voice break and hitch in front of the kids. "You can take all the time you need until then, okay?"

Dipper loved the sound of that. "You would really do that for us, Great Uncle Ford? What about your research...?"

"I'd drop it all in a heartbeat for you two." Ford hadn't sounded more sure of himself in a while.

Mabel stared out the window and gripped Stan's hand. "What about Mom and Dad's house...? Do we get to keep our stuff?"

"Of course, sweetie, We'll pack up your things, and put your parent's stuff in storage for you to keep... Your mother's aunt is going to take care of the house, I've never met her, and I don't think you have either, but we talked on the phone and she seemed to check out okay. You two get to have the house when you're older." Stan explained as simply and gently as possible. He didn't want to upset the kids any more than they were already. "We love you, we'll make sure you're okay."

The Stanley Mobile pulled up to the house, looking dim and dull and dreary without Sherman and Alexandria. The kids hesitated to get out of the car once they were parked in the garage. Thinking of the SUV that was once in that spot made Mabel and Dipper sick. Gently, Stan picked Dipper and Mabel up and carried them into the house. "You two should get changed, then we'll head out. Ford, you have money for the bus ticket?" Stan gently set the kids down, afraid that they might break.

Mabel and Dipper crept up the stairs to change into their only other outfits that weren't in boxes.

"Yes, I have the money right here." Ford tapped one of his trench coat's pockets. "I'll just take a cab to the station." He said, quietly, so the kids couldn't hear. Stanley wordlessly handed him his old Nokia before turning around and heading up the stairs.

Ford braced himself, clutched the knife which now resided in his pocket, and left to hail a cab.

Mabel and Dipper were all ready to go by the time Stan made it upstairs. They each had a small suitcase packed, and dressed in comfortable and warm clothes for the trip. Neither of them had worn a smile in days. Stan knelt down, wrapping them in another hug.

"It's gonna be okay, kids." He said, keeping his voice as calm as he could. "It's gonna be okay.

Stanley packed the kids up in the car, made sure they were buckled, and began their long drive back to Gravity Falls, Oregon.

Fiddleford was waiting for Stanford at the Gravity Falls bus station. He proudly displayed a bright pink sweater Mabel made for him before the summer ended under his overalls, and he tucked Waddles into Mabel's Hugy Wuvy Tummy Bundle™. Fiddleford was still barefoot and fairly unkempt, but he seemed to have himself together more than Ford did. Fiddleford waved happily when Stanford exited the bus and whistled loudly with his fingers to draw his attention. "Over here, Stanford!"

Ford couldn't help but give the man a light smile as he stepped off the bus, despite the situation.

"Did I get here in time? Stan and the kids didn't beat me here, did they?" Ford asked. Atheism aside, one thing Ford would never do is mess with a burial or proper memorial procedures.

"I reckon you're right on time, Stanford." Fiddleford said. "The house was real lonely without 'ya. I'm sorry about what happened, truly I am, but I'm glad yer back." Waddles snorted in agreement.

Ford knelt down to the pig's level. "...Hey, Waddles. Mabel says you're almost as smart as me." Ford scratched behind the pig's ear, trying to smile, but his face remained blank. Waddles kicked his chubby little legs happily and responded with happy squeals at the mention of Mabel.

"We should get goin' a'fore they get here." Fiddleford said, grabbing Ford's hand and leading him down the sidewalk. Old Man McGucket holding hands with Stanford Pines, while toting a pig baby, was no doubt quite the sight, but Ford didn't care. After the past week, he welcomed what small comfort Fiddleford could bring.

It was a long but relaxing walk back to the shack. Fiddleford fished a key from his overalls pocket and let everyone inside.

"Alright. I need all the mirrors in the house covered. There should be some black ribbon in Stan's crafting room, I'll need that too. I'll set about finding the candle, and finding some low stools." Ford said, trying to focus on the task at hand. "We have to get this right." In Gravity Falls, no one messes with the dead and those who mourn them. Not anymore. Normally, Stanford wouldn't be helping to prepare the house. But Gravity Falls didn't have a practicing Jewish community, and Fiddleford didn't know how to properly prepare the house, so Ford would just have to take his chances and do things a little out of order for once.

A small part of him wanted to botch it, on the off chance that Sherman and Alexandria's ghosts would appear.

But if that happened, they wouldn't be the same. Ghosts formed from a disrespectful death and burial were incredibly dangerous, unstable, and usually started out at category 7 or higher, only growing in strength after that. No, he couldn't put Sherman and Alexandria through that, no matter how badly everyone wanted them back.

Fiddleford set off to work, following Stanford's instructions carefully. He covered every mirror he could find, and even the reflective surface of Stanley's old TV. He had some trouble finding little stools for everyone, but found chairs and cushions for those without a stool. He poked around Stanley's craft and taxidermy stuff until he found a spool of black ribbon and presented it to Ford as soon as he found it.

"Thank you." Ford said, tearing it off in little pieces until there were four of them. "You haven't seen a candle around here, have you? Even if it's just birthday candles I'm sure we can think of something."

"Lemme think..." Fiddleford stroked his beard until a lightbulb appeared in his head, and he ran off into the gift shop. There was an awful homemade scented candle for sale, and this would probably be its only good use. "It don't smell too nice, but its a candle." Fiddleford said as he held out the stubby thing. It was only about four inches tall.

"Well… We need it to burn for seven days, but I suppose if the Maccabees can make a day's worth of oil last for eight, we can make this thing last for seven. We just won't light it until it actually starts." Ford said, hoping that the smell wouldn't be too bad when the candle was lit.

This was turning out to be an awful shiva.

Fiddleford made boiled eggs, bread, and lentils for everyone, and nearly paid the family his condolences, until Ford informed him that he'd have to wait until the next day for that, and how exactly he and any other visitors should go about doing so. By the time Stan made it home with the twins, everything was prepared, or at least as prepared as it was going to be.

Mabel burst into tears when she saw Waddles in the living room waiting for her, his belly exposed for a welcome home scratch. She dropped her things, getting on her knees to hold her pet. Later, Ford would swear that Waddles must have sensed her grief, because the pig nuzzled into her cheek and began licking away her tears.

Dipper took off his shoes and picked Mabel's things up for her. He took a seat on one of the little stools with a heavy sigh. "Thank you for putting this together, Great Uncle Ford." Stanford rested a hand on Dipper's shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"Fiddleford did most of the work…" He said, his voice soft and quiet.

Fiddleford popped his head out of the kitchen, "Y'all let me know when yer hungry, Stanford told me what y'all should be eatin for supper so I whipped it up, don't want to make y'all get up."

Stanley kicked his shoes off and sat on a couch cushion next to Dipper, wincing when he hit the floor. _Its a good thing I have to sit here for seven days, I'm not gonna be able to get up anytime soon._ He had to remind himself that he was doing this for Dipper and Mabel, for Alexandria and Sherman, to quell the way his heart ached for the home he'd lost in Glass Shard Beach.

Ford was experiencing no such hangups. Not anymore. He was running on a single purpose, a single goal etched in the forefront of his mind: _help the kids cope._ Dipper and Mabel could tell him to turn the memory gun on his own mind and he'd do it in a second. Not that it'd do much damage thanks to the metal plate in his head.

Once everyone sat down, Mabel lit the stubby candle sitting on top of the covered TV. She recited a mangled prayer in Hebrew, a prayer about the souls of loved ones living eternally like a flame, wracking her brain to remember every syllable. She wanted to pay respect properly, in a way her parents would be proud of. She sat back down next to Dipper and stared at her hands in her lap.

Soos and his Abuelita arrived the next day, to give their condolences and park the rented U-haul outside, to be unpacked later. Though the door had been unlocked, and the gift shop's bell removed, Fiddleford sat near the register, ready to instruct any visitors on how to offer their respects. Abuelita Ramirez brought the heaviest casserole dish in the history of mankind, and placed it in the kitchen after removing her shoes. She and Soos sat with the Pines for a while, Abuelita holding the children's hands and praying silently to herself.

"Thank you both for coming." Stan said, the first to speak since the Ramirez's sat down.

"I hope you do not mind, but Soos and I are praying for you at home."

"We appreciate it, Ms. Ramirez." Ford said.

"You can call me your Abuelita." The kind old woman stated, despite being only about seven years older than Stanford, and took one of his six fingered hands in her own. "We are so sorry, for your loss."

The third day, Candy and Grenda showed up, bringing sweets and comfort food. They simply sat with Mabel, allowing her to sob against each of them. Grenda braided Mabel's hair to relax her, and Candy petted Mabel's back. They even comforted Dipper, giving him hugs and making the whole family plates of food so they wouldn't have to get up to eat.

The fourth day, Wendy and her friends came, as well as the rest of the Corduroy's, all of them dressed and acted somberly. Robbie was surprisingly the most respectful about the situation, though to be fair, the rest of his friends set the bar pretty high. Dipper didn't want to be upset in front of his friends, but seeing all of them show up to comfort his family brought him to tears. To his surprise, Robbie knelt down next to him, producing a black handkerchief he'd purchased from the local Edgy on Purpose. He certainly had more tact than his parents would have had, and he'd fought tooth and nail to convince them to stay at home, worried that their overly cheery demeanor would offend the Pines. Manly Dan brought four homemade stools, short and low to the ground, made with care, and set them up for the Pines and any guests who needed a seat.

Pacifica had snuck out of her house to visit on the fifth day. Mabel and Dipper were shocked to say the least, but Pacifica was welcomed just like everyone else, and she was very respectful. She sat between Dipper and Mabel, and allowed Mabel to hold her hand. She brought something fancy her family's chef had whipped up in secret.

"Kid, I know our families haven't always gotten along, but thank you for coming." Stan said, regretting ever being mad at Pacifica.

"You guys are nice to me… and you're my friends. I'm sorry about your loss." Pacifica felt ashamed of the bratty way she had acted in the past, and she wanted to be there for her only genuine friends.

Bud Gleeful sent flowers in the mail on the sixth day, not knowing or caring to know that it was considered taboo. Fiddleford had to hurry to find a match and burn them before the Pines saw and got upset. When Sheriff Blubbs and Deputy Durland came by to offer their condolences and a homecooked meal, they almost arrested him for lighting a fire during a burn ban, until Fiddleford explained the situation.

The seventh day, Lazy Susan brought stacks of hotcakes and pies, knowing that the most comforting thing in the world was breakfast food and dessert. Being the shortest day of shiva, Susan came and went with quick but genuine condolences.

At the end of their seventh day, the Pines family walked out of the house to see the daylight for the first time during the whole period. The sun was harsh but welcoming. It was saying _it's time to move on._

The candle lasted the whole week.


	7. Apologize When You're Sober

6-9-4-4-12-5-6-15-18-4 13-1-11-5-19 20-5-18-18-9-2-12-5 13-15-15-14-19-8-9-14-5

"Are you sure you wanna get back into all this so soon?" Fiddleford asked, trying to sit still on a stool as Ford strapped what appeared to be a colander to his head.

"I'm fine." Ford's voice was still hollow, he hadn't been taking the death well. "The sooner we get back to work, the sooner I can find something to focus on instead of all _this_."

Fiddleford shivered in the cold basement and held onto his seat with white knuckles. Something about Ford's study was giving him the creeps. "Whatever helps ya I suppose. Do we have to be doin' all this down here?"

"Believe me," Ford swallowed a lump in his throat, knowing full well what was hidden behind the tarps he'd put up. "If I could move the mind reading device to another location, I would." _I don't want you getting hurt by Bill again… by this room again._

Fiddleford took a shaky breath, "It's mighty spooky down here, Stanford. I can't imagine bein' down here all day. Its not exactly… relaxin." He eyed some sharp tool in the corner, the walls of blinking computers, and he felt a sickening nostalgia.

"It's not. I'm usually in the third floor. I hate the study as much as you do. Please, Fidds- Fiddleford. Just drop it for now." Ford connected some wires and turned on the machine. "Okay, let's see if this works."

 _Fidds._ The display flashed that name over and over, struggling to connect it with something. _Good work, Fidds, your computer looks fantastic! Fidds could you pass me the ink? Fidds, what's the matter? Fidds, listen to me! Fidds I lo-_

A tear slid down Ford's face as he unplugged the machine.

"S-sorry. I'll… I'll have it turned back on in a second."

"Stanford...? Did I do somethin' wrong?" Fiddleford looked terrified, he wanted his memories, and he didn't want to mess up his chance.

"No! No, Fi-Fiddleford, it's… You're fine you didn't do any-" Stanford couldn't quite keep his voice from cracking.

"You used to call me Fidds. That was you."

"Please Fiddleford, I can't deal with this right now, it's too soon, please drop it. Let's work on something else." Ford begged, his hands shaking as he tried to reconnect the machine to the outlet. "Got it." He whispered as he finally restarted the machine.

Fiddleford messed with his beard, untangling knots with his fingers and looking away. _Maybe that's somethin' I wasn't supposed to remember. That old man is crazy. Old man McSuckit! I just wanted attention. Tate, do you wanna go fishin? Why won't this dang robit work!_

"W-we u-used to _date_ , o-okay?" Ford said, forcing himself to not unplug the machine again. "We used to be lovers, I _can't_ deal with those emotions right now, Fid-Fiddleford. I'm sorry, you're not… You're not crazy."

Fiddleford turned pink and his heart was beating a mile a minute. "Stanford...I think I remember that. What happened? Did I do somethin' wrong?" _Trust no one! I don't need you, Fiddleford! I don't need anyone!_

"No! No, I-I…It w-was-" Ford fell to his knees; between rehashing where exactly he and Fiddleford stood and grieving for Sherman and Alexandria, the whirlwind of emotions got to be too much. "I couldn't save _them_ … I couldn't save _you_ …" He whimpered, so quietly Fiddleford barely caught it.

Fiddleford stood, removed the helmet from his tiny head, and knelt down next to Stanford, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Stanford, please don't cry...!"

Ford flinched at the touch, and took a few seconds to regain his composure. "I'm fine. Please, Fiddleford. Just put the helmet back on, we'll work on something else. We'll work on high school memories. What year did you graduate?"

Fiddleford rose from the floor and grabbed the helmet once more. "I can't recall… 1970… something..." _Your valedictorian, Fiddleford Hadron McGucket! I'm sorry to inform you that your application to West Coast Tech has been declined. Fiddleford, smile, say cheese! A banjo...for me? Thank you! Try Backupsmore University, I hear they have mostly bug free dorms! Hi, my name's Stanford Pines… I guess we're roommates... Dungeons Dungeons and more Dungeons? Why didn't you say so! Have you heard this here record? Its far out! You used to have a brother? What happened?_

Ford stood perfectly still as tears slid down his face once again. _Oh god I failed Stanley too..._

Fiddleford looked pleased as peaches to relive these memories, the days he was smart, the days he was worth something. "Stanford...thank you." He began to cry as well, overwhelmed with joy. It felt like eating your favorite meal after starving for years.

"...Please don't thank me." Ford's voice was quiet. "Let's go on to something earlier. What was middle school like?" He felt like he was going back in time, imagining Fiddleford younger and younger. The farther away from Ford the better.

Fiddleford thought harder on this one. "I don't think I've ever thought about bein' a youngin'..." _Hick! Does he brush his teeth? I hear he's from the south, he must be stupid. Ma, I don't like it here. I miss our old home. Nobody likes me here. They'll come around, darlin' they always do. They never do._

They continued like that for a while.

On the ground floor of the Mystery Shack, Stanley halfheartedly spooned out some of Abuelita's casserole onto two tiny plates. Mabel and Dipper sat at the table with two untouched cans of Pitt Cola.

"Please, kids. I know it's hard but you gotta eat somethin. You're wasting away." Stan's voice was quiet, overflowing with concern. He couldn't lose these kids so soon after their parents. He set the casserole down in front of them.

"We're not that hungry." The two of them spoke in an eerie, monotone unison. They didn't get hungry. They didn't want to watch TV. Mabel didn't touch her crafts and Dipper stared off into space until it was time to go to bed, fidgeting with his cast. They were zombies, except Stan knew how to deal with zombies. And at least zombies had a sense of self preservation.

"Please kids, just try it, for your Grunkle Stan?" He sat between them, an arm on each of their shoulders. "I know you don't wanna and I know you don't feel hungry. But you've gotta eat something, even if you aren't hungry. Even if you hate it, you've gotta _eat_."

Dipper picked at his plate with his fork, and Mabel considered giving her plate to Waddles when Stan wasn't looking. She looked back to Stan's face, and the concern in his familiar eyes reminded her of her parents. Through watery eyes, Mabel took a tiny bite.

"There ya go." Stan tried to give them a little smile. "I know what you're goin' through. I went through the same thing when I lost Stanford… I didn't eat for what felt like weeks, I didn't bathe, I barely slept. I was…" Stanley decided to spare the kids the goriest details of one of the darkest times of his life. "I didn't take care of myself, and I almost didn't make it."

Dipper dropped his fork and almost shouted, "Well, at least Ford came _back!_ Mom and Dad are _dead!"_ Dipper rose from his seat and out of his uncles comforting grasp. "You don't understand at all!"

"Dipper! Don't say that! Mom and Dad are gonna be back! Ford _promised_ he'd find a way. He promised he'd find their ghosts if they left any!"

"Mabel, are you _stupid?_ They aren't going to come back. No amount of- of journals and paranormal… _crap_ are gonna make them alive again, they're dead!"

"Oh yeah?! What about Blendin? What about _Globnar_?!" Mabel shouted back.

"Nothing is gonna work, Mabel. Blendin won't help, globnar is impossible, face it! Nothing ever goes right when we mess with that _shit!"_

" _ **Dipper PINES**_." Stan shouted, surprised at Dipper's sudden aggression. "Your sister is _not_ stupid, lord knows what she's talking about with blendins and globnars, but she's not stupid! And _you're_ not allowed to swear!" Stan lifted Dipper up like a sack of potatoes, careful to not disturb his cast, and carried Dipper up to the attic, whether he liked it or not.

Mabel sat at the table and cried, wiping her tears with her sweater and muttering to herself. "Y-you're _stupid_. I'm gonna get them back."

Stanley set Dipper down on his bed, taking a seat next to him.

"You mind telling me why you snapped at your sister back there?" He said, furrowing his brow.

Dipper crossed his arms and looked away. "She's wrong. Mom and Dad can't come back. Ford said he'd find their ghosts but he was _lying_. People don't leave ghosts if they have good funerals. People don't leave ghosts unless they have an _obsession_. Mom and Dad didn't have that. It was a freak accident...the only thing wrong was they didn't deserve it." Dipper held back a tiny sob, the rage in his heart right now was a more than welcome respite from the overwhelming sadness he'd been feeling of late. Yet the crushing feeling, the one that kept saying _I wish it were me_ , wouldn't leave his mind.

"Dipper, you and I both know that when it comes to Ford's geeky head, no one really knows what's going on up there. Maybe he really _can_ find a way to bring them back. I don't know." Stan took a deep breath, and put his arm around Dipper. "Your parents didn't deserve to die, I agree with you there. But you don't deserve to, either. You gotta take care of yourself, buddy. And you can't keep lashing out at your sister, it'll only mess you up in the long run."

Dipper took off his hat and leaned against Stan. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry I got mad, and I was mean to Mabel. She didn't deserve that. I'm a real jerk."

"You're not a jerk, you're just upset." Stan said, pulling Dipper closer. "If you're still upset, stay up here and cool down for a while, then come apologize to Mabel."

"Okay, Grunkle Stan." Dipper flopped on his bed when Stan got up to check on Mabel, and listened to his footsteps creak down the stairwell.

"Mabel? Are you in here?" Stan asked, peering into the kitchen. Mabel had poured the sparkling water out of some glass bottles, and had a few stacks of paper piled next to her. Her dinner plate was empty.

"I'm writing to Blendin. Then he'll go back in time and save Mom and Dad." She said simply. "I'm not stupid…" She whispered, mostly to herself.

"You are _definitely_ not stupid, sweetie. You're smart, and talented, and creative." Stan sat down next to her, patting her back. "Sometimes when people get upset, they lash out at the people they care about. It doesn't make the things they say right, and it doesn't mean that what they say is what they really think of you. Please, promise me, you'll never for a second think you're stupid." _Never think you're just girl Dipper, Dipper with braces, dumber Dipper, don't think that about yourself, please._

Mabel almost spoke, until Dipper appeared back in the kitchen, in… Stan's glittery orange tracksuit jacket? It hung down to his ankles and looked more like a dress than a jacket.

" _I'm Dipper and I was wrong...I'm singing the Dip wrong song... I'm sorry I was mean… Your ideas aren't stupid… um… something that rhymes with mean."_ Dipper squeaked in a pitchy singsong voice, kicking his legs a bit in time with the song.

And for the first time in a week, Mabel laughed.

Some hours after that, Fiddleford grew tired of reliving memories of younger and younger versions of himself, and left Ford's study to return to the surface. For a long time, Ford just sat there among the eerie green lighting, tears streaking down his face.

Eventually, something in his brain clicked, and he slowly left the room, heading back into the elevator. Once inside, he pressed the third floor button, intending to hole himself up in the basement all night. He'd been sharing a room with Fiddleford before the bar mitzvah, with him on the couch and Fiddleford on Soos' air mattress, but lately he'd taken to the cold hard ground near where the portal had been.

When Ford got to the third floor of the basement, he knew that something was wrong.

It wasn't much, a misplaced shadow, a small noise, barely audible, but it was enough to send Ford on high alert. He reached for the gun on his hip, unsure if what he was dealing with was a mouse or a cycloptopus, before rounding the corner towards where the portal's control panels had been.

Dipper was sitting on the ground, hugging his knees, fumbling with the Infinity Sided Dice.

"...Do you… Do you think it'd be worth it?" He asked in a tiny voice. "If I rolled it, could Mom and Dad live? How many chances do I have?" Ford knelt down next to him, wrapping his arms around Dipper, holding him close.

"...You can roll the dice as many times as you wish. It could bring your parents back. It could do anything." Ford paused, not wanting to tell Dipper he couldn't roll it, hell, he wanted to roll it himself. But only as a last resort. "...It could even hurt you. That's within the realm of possibility. And as much as I miss your parents, and as much as I want for you and Mabel to be happy, that's not a chance I'm willing to take." He slowly reached out and grabbed the dice from Dipper's hands, putting it back in the case. Dipper buried his face in the crook of Ford's elbow, tears soaking into the fabric of his trench coat.

It was a long time before Dipper finally calmed down enough to go back up the elevator to the surface.

By then, it was dark, and time for bed.

"You doin' alright, kiddo?" Stan asked when he saw Dipper emerge from behind the vending machine, with flushed cheeks and puffy eyes.

Dipper simply nodded and wiped his eyes on his journey up the stairs. "I'm going to bed."

"I'll tuck you in." Stanley said, patting Dipper on the back. They walked up the stairs in silence. Mabel was already in the attic, still writing letters to Blendin. Stan neatly set them on the trunk at the foot of her bed, and paused, looking around the small attic. "You know… If you two ever decide you want a bigger room… or separate rooms or a different room… Let me know, and I'll talk to Manly Dan about it. We'll build it, and do it up any way you want it."

"Really, Grunkle Stan?!" Mabel looked up from her letters, stars in her eyes for the first time in a while. "I could have my own room? Could I paint it?"

"Of course. I know you two lived in the attic all summer, but you're both gettin bigger, and unless Ford decides to break spacetime again, this room ain't growing with ya. I want you two to be happy here. So if you ever get to thinkin' that maybe the attic isn't for you? Let me know." Stan paused. "And I promise, there are no more secret rooms in the shack with weird nerd carpets that will swap your bodies. Or creepy, most likely cursed, wax figures. And if you two like the attic, that's fine too."

Dipper didn't look too excited, he simply crawled under the covers and pulled the comforter over his head. He'd had enough commotion for one day. Stan paused, trying to remember something his own mother had done a lifetime ago, put a hand on Dipper's shoulder, and gave him a little kiss on the cheek, before turning to do the same for Mabel.

"...I love you." Stan said softly before turning out the lights. He'd meant what he said, of course, but actually feeling the words slip off his tongue felt strange. Unnatural.

Ford stumbled up the stairs, eyelids heavy, and felt his way around the vending machine and the gift shop, making his way to the kitchen. It wasn't the first time he'd dealt with death. Hell, he'd been less worked up for friends that he'd known far longer than Sherman and Alexandria Pines. He hadn't even shed a tear when he learned that his own parents were dead, though maybe he'd been expecting it then. The way Sherman and Alexandria had died wasn't particularly gruesome, not compared to all the _shit_ Ford had seen in his lifetime. A car crash, bits of broken glass, _god Dipper and Mabel look so much like them_ , deep lacerations, their bodies were mangled, but not the worst Ford had seen.

No, it was the twins. It was the principle of the thing. It was the kindness their parents had shown.

Dipper and Mabel's lives were completely uprooted by this. Sure they loved their grunkles, but they now had to leave all their friends, their house, their hometown, their parents _corpses, oh god he couldn't save them,_ they had to leave it all behind and come live in Gravity Falls. The twins were thirteen, they should never know death and pain like this. What's worse, Ford had known exactly how to save them, known exactly what to do, he'd brought people back from far worse injuries, he himself had recovered from worse, but the medical supplies in this dimension weren't the ones he needed, he hadn't thought to bring any through the portal, hadn't thought to try to recreate any before it was too late.

Ford reached into his pocket, pulling out Alexandria's business card, rubbing his thumb over the surface. The lettering was already beginning to fade, soon the card would be little more than a white piece of cardstock. But Sherman and Alexandria themselves, what they'd done for Stan and Ford… He couldn't let that go forgotten.

Then there was the possession spell. It had been given to Ford by _Bill_ , of all people. It was the worst feeling in the world, knowing that Ford had succumbed and used it again, put someone through that horror. But he'd done it knowing that he could save Sherman and Alexandria. And he'd failed. And he was growing older, and soon he would be the next to die.

Ford's hands trembled as he reached for the refrigerator, searching for something, _anything_ to numb the pain. _Dipper and Mabel, they're just kids, they'll wind up just like him, why, why why why why._ Six fingers slid their way around a mason jar of Fiddleford's moonshine, almost slipping through the condensation. Ford took a deep breath, paused to make sure this was really what he wanted, and chugged the whole thing.

Stanley slowly walked down the steps, close to the wall so the floorboards didn't creak. He saw Ford in the kitchen out of the corner of his eye. He almost turned in the other direction, ready to head off to bed himself, but he stopped short.

He could have sworn he'd heard Ford sobbing.

"Stanford? You doin' okay?" Stan asked, afraid to raise his voice too high and risk waking the kids or Fiddleford. Stanford Pines only raised another jar of moonshine to his lips and chugged.

"Stanley can I tell you somethin?" Ford asked. His eyes were glassy and beads of sweat dripped over his brow. He was absolutely shitfaced.

"S-sure, Poindexter. Whaddya need?" Stanley said, pulling up a chair and gently scooting a few jars of moonshine away from Stanford.

"I-I couldn't save them." Ford slurred. "I did s-something I swore I'd never do and I couldn't even save them."

"Stanford, you tried your best." Stanley said. "Come on, you've had too much."

"I don't care anymore." Ford's breathing was shallow and tears were prickling behind his eyes. "Oh god I can't think straight, I can't- I-I just don't care anymore. I don't care if you try to manipulate me again, I don't care if you hurt me, I don't fucking _care_. I'm… I'm tired of running. I'm tired of running from the only people who ever wanted to be around me, I'm tired of _caring_ that anyone who could ever stand to be _near_ me hurt me and used me. I just don't _care_ anymore. I just don't wanna die alone, oh god, I don't wanna die alone. Whatever bad thing you do to me I deserve anyways. S-s-she was _wrong_ a-about me. I'm awful and bad and worthless, I couldn't save them, I'll rot in hell for what I've done and whatever you do to hurt me I deserve, I just don't wanna die alone." Stanford was shuddering now, tears were coming out in full force. "And if I had to take my pick of the people I could come crawling back to, I'd pick _you._ You… You didn't… You always stood by me...It was my fault what happened I was going to leave you behind I- Of course you tried to- It was so long ago I was so _stupid_ to- I-I can't... Please, Stanley, I'm sorry I- please, please don't leave me."

"Stanford? Stanford, listen to me." Stanley said, grabbing his brother's hands and spinning him around so they were facing each other. "What happened back in high school was an _accident_ , I never meant to hurt you. I was… I was scared of what would happen to me, but I'd never try to drag you down." The stench of alcohol was overpowering, and Stanford's skin felt ice cold. God, he looked miserable. "Whoever, or whatever, _did_ hurt you? Deserves to be the one to rot. Not you. Dad was an asshole, Crampelter was an asshole, that Bill Cipher guy? _Total prick_. But I'm gonna tell you something I wish I'd heard a long, long time ago. The shit they pulled? What they did? That's on _them_ , not you. It doesn't define you, it doesn't make you _worthless_." Stanley's fingers intertwined with Ford's as he slowly pulled the man closer. "I'm not gonna leave you, I'm never gonna leave you, just please, don't beat yourself up about what _they_ did. And don't beat yourself up about Sherman and Alexandria. You did all you could, it was just their time."

And suddenly Ford's arms were wrapped around Stanley's waist, and he buried his face in Stanley's suit, sobbing harder than ever.

"Sorry, m'sorry so so sorry a-all this t-ti-time I-I thought y-you… I th-thought you'd- Oh god i-if I w-was wrong a-a-abou' you- Wh-who el-else?" Ford could barely make coherent sentences between the alcohol and his own tears.

"You thought I'd done something awful," Stanley said, realization dawning. He wrapped his own arms around the trembling Stanford, squeezing him tight and never wanting to let go. "Don't beat yourself up about it…" He paused, eyeing the moonshine on the table. "Just… do me a favor?"

"A-a-anything, S-Stanley." Ford was practically gasping for breath now.

"Apologize when you're sober."


	8. Under The Weather

23-21-2-2-1 12-21-2-2-1 4-21-2 4-21-2

Ford woke up on his side, blurry vision focusing on a small wastebasket from the bathroom that had been moved next to the bed. The room was dark, and musty, but despite the fog his head was in, Ford could recognize that he was in Stanley's room. A blanket had been tucked up underneath his shoulders. Someone was gently shaking his arm.

"Stanford? You awake?"

"Mm." He groaned, rubbing his eyes, thankful that he still had his glasses on. He couldn't lose them, not again. Human optometrists are hard to come by out in the multi- Oh. Yeah, he was back in Gravity Falls. It was over now. Ford let out a heavy sigh. He hated being awake. He hated sleeping too. Tears began to pool under his eyelids. Thirty years and it was his home dimension that would be the death of him.

"It's dark in here, are your eyes open?" Their hand had snaked over his chest now, and Ford knew that they were just checking his breathing but it still set the corners of his brain on fire.

"Yes." Stanford said, forcing himself to stay still, to not scream and try to get away. He was drunk, the person checking up on him was probably Stanley, god he hoped it was Stanley. If it was Fiddleford, or worse, the kids… No the hand was too big to be anyone else's, this had to be Stanley... The hand retreated after about a minute of agony.

"Okay, you can go back to sleep if you want."

The process repeated itself a few more times during the night.

At around ten o'clock, Stanford was woken up by a different voice.

"Hey, old man. You still kicking over there?" It was brighter in the room now, and Ford could make out a blur of red among the musty brown hues of Stan's room. He blinked and reached up to adjust his glasses, bringing the room into focus.

"...Wendy?" Ford asked, his voice just barely reaching out past dry and cracked lips. "How long were…" Ford trailed off as he tried to sit up, his head spinning. He felt Wendy's smaller hands on his back, trying to steady him.

"Woah, you sure you're up for that yet?" She spoke softer than she normally did, thank heavens. Ford's head was pounding against his skull.

"M'fine, where… How long have you been there?" Ford asked, voice cracking. Wendy gently slid a glass of water into his hands.

"About an hour. Stan had to make the kids breakfast, but he didn't want to leave you alone." The water was like a godsend, and Ford relished every drop of it. "You have a headache? I have some Advil in my purse." Ford must have nodded, because the next thing he knew, Wendy had produced a small cardboard box from her purse and was placing it in his hands. "It's unopened, dude. Brand new, I swear." She said. Ford fumbled with the packaging, but it was better than attempting to bring himself to trust an opened bottle. _Stanley probably told her to do that._ Ford thought to himself. _God, why did I ever think what happened between us had been anything but an accident?_ He slipped two pills into his mouth, and a swig of water followed soon after.

"...Stan shouldn't have brought you here. You're too young to have to be doing this." Ford said, slowly angling himself so that his feet slid off the side of the bed, facing Wendy. His mud caked boots scraped against the aging wood of the floorboards.

"Hey, I know more about this kinda thing than Soos would." Wendy brushed a few stray hairs away from her face. "So why'd you get totally shitfaced last night?"

"I did _what_?" Ford blinked and reeled away in horror.

"Dude, dude, calm down. Shitfaced means _drunk_. Jesus, you're worse than Stan." Wendy paused. "You knew that Dipper and Mabel were upstairs. Why'd you chug five jars of moonshine?" Ford tensed. The girl in front of him was just a teenager, she was so _young_ , she shouldn't, _couldn't_ be burdened with what was supposed to be _his_ problems. But Ford knew well that she wouldn't be satisfied until she got some sort of explanation. Wendy knew what living with and near people who were dangerous without meaning to was like, and she'd sooner slice her axe into her own flesh than let Dipper and Mabel get hurt, in any way.

"...Grief. Failure. And a bit of an existential crisis." Ford gave as simple of an explanation as he could. "I'd never expose the kids to that. It just… got to be too much."

"Really, that's all you're telling me? Cause _Stan_ told me you got pretty self destructive last night." Wendy said. "You're lucky the kids didn't see you like that. You're supposed to be the one who's there for them."

"...What exactly did Stan tell you?" Ford said, recalling what he'd said and done in his drunken stupor.

"Well, you got drunk off your gourd, Stan found you in the kitchen, you were blubbering something about abusive relationships and dying, and then Stan brought you here." Wendy said, shrugging. "Well, Stan was a little more specific, but that's the gist of it. Look, I know it's hard but you can't do this to yourself…" Wendy blinked, realizing that Ford didn't really seem to know what was going on. "Is this your first hangover?"

"It's my first time experiencing one, yes. I don't normally drink, and I recommend you never start as well: it messes with your head too much." Ford rubbed his temples, sighing.

Wendy had to stifle a laugh. "Yeah, drinking is _very bad for you_ if you do it wrong. You can't drink all of that hard stuff in a row and expect to have an enjoyable buzz."

"...Oh, I suppose they lowered the drinking age since I was gone. Back in '82 you had to wait until you were twenty-one. And I wasn't exactly looking for an enjoyable buzz… Even if I was, for me there's no such thing." Ford said, opening up a little more now.

"Well… not exactly. The legal drinking age hasn't changed… But it's not like I go out and get shi-... _drunk_ constantly. " Wendy slowly sat down next to Ford, careful to not make too much noise.

"You shouldn't do that." Ford paused. "And I shouldn't have gotten drunk last night. I'm sorry, I know it upset you."

"It isn't me you should be apologizing to, dude. Stan is the one who had to tuck you into bed and, well, it looks like you've been hurling all night." She eyed the wastebasket next to the bed

"I know. But before I go apologize to Stan, I have to check something." Ford said, standing up, steadying himself on the bed frame. "Is anyone in the gift shop? I need to get to my lab."

"What's in your lab? I can just go get it for you, man." Wendy said, noticing Ford's shaky steps.

"Well… I'll need a syringe and-"

" _Dude._ I am _not_ helping you shoot up." If Ford hadn't been hungover, Wendy would probably have smacked him.

"What? Unless that's the new term for checking blood alcohol content, I'm not going to... 'shoot up'." Ford said, shuffling towards the door.

"Be careful, dude, the light is gonna hit your eyes and you aren't gonna like it!" Wendy said, putting herself between Ford and the door.

"It doesn't matter." Ford grumbled. "Step aside, please."

Wendy crossed her arms and got out of Ford's way, just waiting for him to start complaining about his hangover. "Have it your way."

When the light hit Ford's eyes, he couldn't help but wince. He shuffled out into the hallway, silently pushing through whatever effects the hangover was having on him. Wendy had to admit, for his first hangover, Ford was doing pretty well at hiding it.

Wendy followed Ford around the house to make sure he didn't knock into anything, and Ford didn't object, not even when they reached the vending machine. Once they had disappeared down the elevator to the basement, Ford leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples, welcoming the dim lighting.

Wendy had never seen the basement before, but at this point, it took a lot more than a big empty room to impress her. "What did I tell you, huh? You've gotta take it easy. You should probably eat something."

"I'll eat something once I'm done, just help me find a timer so I can check this accurately." Ford said, fumbling around in one of the drawers for a clean syringe and a small bottle filled with paper strips.

Wendy pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and opened up the timer. "I can time you."

"Alright, now it's important that you don't start timing until I actually inject myself. And, also, you might not want to mess with those." Ford said, noticing Wendy reaching for the strips. "I invented them as a prank for an old college 'buddy' of mine who was an alcoholic. They accurately measure your blood alcohol content but give you rashes if they come in contact with your skin." Ford rolled up his sleeve, trying to find a vein in the dim light.

Wendy's cellphone illuminated the small room, reflecting off the blast shield. "Hey, be careful!" She said. "Don't just stab that needle in willy nilly!"

"I've survived a _lot_ worse injuries than a little _pinprick_ , Wendy." Ford said as he finally found a vein. "Okay, start the timer… now." Wendy winced a little as Ford drew his own blood, and used the strips as a litmus tester. Ford ran a few quick calculations in his head, grabbing Wendy's phone at one point to double check how much time had passed, and eventually sat down on a small chair.

"In about five minutes, I'll officially be sober." He said. "Thank you for helping me with that. You can go back up if you wish. I'll be up in a little while to talk to Stan."

Wendy hopped up to sit on a workbench and swings her legs. "Nah, it's pretty cool down here. I want to make sure you stop playing with needles."

"I won't be injecting myself or drawing blood anytime soon, Wendy." Ford said, his head beginning to clear. "How long do these things usually last in humans? Two days? Three? It's been awhile since I've done something like this."

"You'll be feeling it all day, but it should be gone tomorrow. You have to chill out, drink some water, eat something."

"I don't think I'll be doing much of that today, I'm afraid. There's too much I have to do first." Ford said.

"Then get ready for the worst hangover of you _life._ You need to take care of yourself, man."

"If the rest of today doesn't get too much worse than this morning, then I think I'll be fine. I've had worse." Stanford let out a heavy sigh. "You really are too young to be doing this. I appreciate the help, of course, but…"

"But nothing. Dude, it's fine. You need hearty breakfast food, I'm telling you, it's a hangover miracle!" Wendy was very adamant, and she was not about to let Ford suffer all day.

"Wendy, if I can survive being stuck between dimensions for thirty years, I can handle one day of hangover. That medicine is already helping." Ford said. "I think it's been about five minutes, and if it hasn't, it will be by the time I actually find Stan. I need to apologize."

"Yeah you do." Wendy muttered under her breath. She hopped down from her spot on the workbench and shoved her hands in her pockets. "Alright then, old man, lets go back into the daylight. Don't complain when you haven't eaten anything and your headache gets worse." She said, leading Ford back to the elevator. "Oh, and one more thing?" Wendy said, reaching into her back pocket.

"What?" Ford asked, leaning against the elevator wall. Wendy handed Ford a pair of sunglasses, with pink frames that were large enough to fit over his own glasses.

"So you don't fucking blind yourself again. You'll be thanking me later." She said as Ford slipped on the sunglasses as the elevator came to a halt.

"Thank you, Wendy." Ford said quietly, leaving for the gift shop to search for Stan.

Eventually, Ford found him sitting on the old couch on the back porch, sipping a Pitt Cola. Dipper and Mabel were running around the yard with a shovel and too many glass bottles, digging holes, Dipper pausing every few minutes to rub at his cast. Wendy had disappeared, likely to return to her own friends.

"...Good morning, Stan." Ford said, sighing. "...What are the kids doing?"

"They say they're trying to contact someone named Blendin from 'the year twenty sñeventy-twelve.' They think he might go back and change the past." Stan's voice was low, trying to hide his hopelessness from the kids. "Who knows, maybe he will. Or maybe this Blendin guy is a huge pri- _jerk_ and needs to step off the kids. I don't know. But it gives 'em something to focus on. They've got a little bit of hope left in 'em, and I don't want to squash that." Stan sighed. After how drunk Ford had been last night, Stan was sure that Ford didn't remember a thing, so he was surprised when his brother took a seat next to him on the couch.

"Stan? I'm… I'm sorry."

Stan could have had a heart attack right then and there. He didn't think his brother would actually say it while sober, it was a little too good to be true. "Sorry...for what?"

"I'm sorry for getting drunk last night, and more importantly, for not listening to you when I had the chance all those years ago. Last night's a bit of a blur, but I _do_ remember you saying that what happened was an accident, and I believe you about that. I never even _considered_ …" Ford took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice down so the kids wouldn't hear and get upset. "It was so long ago, and honestly it doesn't really matter now, but I _do_ remember what happened. Or at least, what I thought happened. I'd thought you'd destroyed my project to try to manipulate me into staying in New Jersey. I was so hurt, I didn't even think to _ask_ … And that set the tone for everything _else_ that happened. With the portal. And _that_ set the tone for when I came back. I was so upset that you hadn't listened to me, hadn't even said sorry, that I ignored the big picture. Stan, you _saved me._ " A tear slid down Ford's face. "The other side of that portal was _awful_ , and what I'd done to you was _awful_ , you were homeless for _years_ because of me… and you _still_ spent spent thirty years trying to get me back _home_. For a long time, I thought you were a reckless, dangerous, criminal for risking so much just for me. But losing Sherman and Alexandria made me realize… that I'd risk it all for you, too. For any of them, really. And I'm so, so sorry that I ever made you feel like-" Ford almost said ' _like I do now_ ' but caught himself. This was about apologizing to Stan, not garnering his own self-pity. "Like garbage. Like the dumb twin. Because you're _not_ , Stan. And despite everything, despite how irrationally and unreasonably angry I was, I never thought you were."

Stan listened to Ford's whole speech, gripping the couch arm in an attempt not to cry. He'd been waiting for this for what seemed like his whole life, to be redeemed in Ford's eyes, but he didn't feel right saying something like 'I told you so'. So he did the only thing that felt genuine. Stan wrapped his big arms around Ford and hugged him, holding Ford in a vice-like grip. Ford's own arms found their way around Stan's torso, rubbing small circles into his back.

"I'm so sorry, Stan…" Ford whispered, trying and failing not to let tears fall down his face. "I love you, I'm so sorry."

"I love you too, Ford. It's okay." Stan almost shook, and hid his face in his brother's shoulder.

From across the yard, Mabel dropped her shovel and shook Dipper, who was digging next to her. "Oh. My. Gosh. _They're HUGGING IT OUT!"_ Mabel almost shrieked with excitement and then kicked the ground. "I should have brought my camera outside, I knew it!"

Dipper laughed a little as he was rattled by Mabel, and leaned against his shovel to watch the loving reunion, happy that _something_ good was finally happening. "It's about time." He looked down at the hole he'd been digging. "...Maybe time will be on our side soon, too."

Inside, Fiddleford was sitting on the living room floor, tinkering with the TV remote with Waddles in his lap. He had taken the thing apart, and it appeared as if he was rewiring the whole thing. He jumped a little when the Pines came back inside and tried to hide his handiwork. Stan had already gotten onto him for trying to 'fix' the oven by allowing it to heat up to thousands of degrees in order to flash cook food a few weeks ago. It didn't really turn out the way Fiddleford had planned.

"Good morning, Fidds." Ford said without thinking. Talking it out and starting to repair his relationship with Stan had put him in a good mood, despite the hangover.

Fiddleford dropped his screwdriver and smiled up at Ford, blushing behind his beard. "Hello, Stanford! Uh, good mornin' to ya too! Those are some fancy shades you've got on!"

"Don't… Don't ask." Ford said, scratching the back of his head. "Have you… have _either_ of you, eaten breakfast yet?" Ford asked, scratching the back of his head. "I'm a little peckish, and I would prefer to eat with some company."

"No! I haven't had nothin to eat yet!" Fiddleford hopped up, causing Waddles to leave his comfy spot, and the remote experiment to drop to the floor.

"Oh, are you working on something? Don't let me get in your way." Ford said, eyeing the remote. Fiddleford working on new projects, ones that weren't voice altering tonics or animatronic lake monsters, was _progress_ , it meant he'd remembered where exactly his interests lay. He hadn't lost his engineering skills to the memory gun, but he had lost an outlet for them, and seeing Fiddleford get that back was a huge relief for Ford.

"Not really, I couldn't find the other clickers, so I'm makin' this one to work for all the devices Stanley's got goin' in here. I am mighty hungry, I can wait to finish." Fiddleford said, tugging nervously at his beard.

"Wait, you can do that?" Ford asked, intrigued. The prospect of breakfast forgotten, he sat down on the floor next to the remote. "The last time I was in this dimension, everyone still had to use buttons, and now you're on the verge of just… having a remote to do everything?"

Stan rolled his eyes, smirking at the conversation. "I don't know how you manage to be so nerdy and so behind the times, Ford, but you do."

"You're behind the times, too, Stanley." Ford had the remote in his hands, examining it, being careful to not loosen any wires.

"I get to be behind the times, because _I_ don't have PhD." Stan said.

Fiddleford sat and watched Ford admire his work, hoping Stanford didn't think that this invention was crazy, like most people would. He kept quiet as Ford looked the wiring over, not wanting to say something to scare Ford off.

Mable and Dipper stopped behind Stan once they came inside, and pushed him into the kitchen. "Come on, Grunkle Stan, second breakfast!" Mabel cheered. She was happy that her two uncles had made amends, but she was going to let Fiddleford and Stanford reconnect if it was the last thing she did.

"Wait, kids, I-" Stan's voice trailed off as Mabel pulled him along into the kitchen. Ford slowly stood up, a little torn between going into the kitchen to spend time with Stan, and staying in the living room with Fiddleford.

Fiddleford cleared his throat and gently took the remote back from Stanford. "I'm fine stayin' in here to work on it, if you wanna spend time with yer family."

"No, Fiddleford, please. Join us. You don't have to stay cooped up in here all day." Ford said.

"Stanford, I reckon stayin' cooped up's been more yer way of doin' things as of late. I thought you liked bein by yer lonesome."

"...It's less of a personal preference and more of acknowledging that it's better if other people don't get involved on the dark, weird road I travel." Ford said, looking away. When Stan had told him to stay away from the kids, though the rule was eventually lifted, what had happened to _Fiddleford_ was the reason Ford hadn't objected. "If something happened to you a- I'd never forgive myself…"

"Stanford, I'm not scared 'a you. Yer helpin' me get my memories back, yesterday was the most I've ever remembered things all in one go. I know there was some kinda horrific lab accident thirty odd years ago, but whatever it was, we're both older n'wiser now. I won't get hurt again." Fiddleford spoke with a very clear head, unlike his usual hillbilly demeanor. He looked Ford straight in the eyes to convey his sincerity.

"Fiddleford, if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer if the study was as far into the basement as we went. If it makes you feel better, though, I'll come back upstairs to go to sleep…" Ford said, unable to completely ignore Fiddleford's concerns.

Fiddleford couldn't help but smile. "We could be roommates like we used'ta be. You don' hafta sleep on the couch again, if you don' wanna."

There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by one of Stan's fake curse words. "...Maybe we should get to the kitchen. We can sort out the rest later." Ford said, standing up and offering his hand to help Fiddleford stand.

Fiddleford slowly reached up to take Ford's hand and his heart almost kept out of his chest when their fingers laced together. Ford pulled Fiddleford up with ease, the man still barely weighed anything, and tried to pull his own hand away. It was still too soon, and Ford needed more time to process everything, to get his bearings again.

Fiddleford's grip was fairly loose, afraid that Ford was going to shut him out again at any moment. When he felt Ford pulling, Fiddleford's arm snapped back to his side, and he scuttled to the kitchen faster.

" _I'm sorry_." Ford whispered, seeing his friend so afraid of him.

The kitchen was covered in pancake batter and flour. Stan had apparently dropped a pan, though thankfully no fire was involved this time around, and was trying to mop up the mess.

"You alright in here?" Ford asked, thankful for the sunglasses he wore against the bright light of the kitchen.

"Grunkle Stan tried flipping the pancakes but he forgot that you're not supposed to throw the whole pan." Dipper stifled a laugh, kind of entertained with his Grunkle's misfortune.

"I see." Ford gave a small smile and took a seat next to Mabel and Dipper. "How did… How did writing to this Blendin fellow go?"

"Well, we wrote lots and lots of letters. Wendy took some to hide in town for us, and we put a bunch in the front yard and near the forest. Hopefully Blendin finds one and he can go back in time and fix what happened... He's a nice guy, I think he'll help us." Mabel fed Waddles some pancake scraps as she explained her time capsule plan to Ford.

"He'd better be." Stanley mumbled. "I don't know if I like the idea of you two meddling with space and time with a guy I've never met, but if it'll get your parents back… Look, all I'm saying is… If this Blendin guy gives you any trouble, call me and Ford. We'll come help."

"We kicked his butt in Globnar, he's not exactly the strongest or the smartest guy. We can take him, Grunkle Stan." Dipper shrugged.

"Wait, you've been summoned to _Globnar_ before? And _lived_?" Ford was shocked, Globnar was a life or death battle royale. "Wait, what on earth was this Blendin guy doing summoning two _kids_ to Globnar?!"

"We played with his time machine and he got arrested by the time cops, he wanted revenge. Globnar wasn't _that_ scary, Grunkle Ford. We played _laser tag_." Mabel smiled, reliving her summer adventures was putting her in a better mood.

" _Laser tag_? You're thirteen, too young to be given laser weapons! Even _I've_ never gone near a laser tag battle! If and when this Blendin guy shows up I'm going to _break every part of his face_!" Ford stood up, pacing around the kitchen. He was absolutely livid.

"Ford. Laser tag is a _game._ For _children_. It does _not_ involve actual laser weapons. It's about as harmful as a bright flashlight, keep your shorts on." Stan rolled his eyes and got back to actually making pancakes again.

"...Wait. What? Are you seriously telling me that one of the most notorious and deadly battle royales in the _multiverse_ … And they… Laser tag is just… I think I'm going to sit down and rethink everything."

Roughly sñeventy hundred years in the future, Blendin Blandin was having another boring time day in the time office, reading time news bulletin after time news bulletin. _High fiving pioneer woman arrested… Cowboy versions of plucky teenager and rude criminal grandfather murdered by rogue time policeman… Upcoming coronation on timeline 928-B postponed… Globnar Victors from 21st century attempt to contact Time Anomaly Removal Crew Member, sweater attached… Sea Pig uprising erased from history…_ Wait what? Globnar victors? Blendin pressed a button on his watch, calling Halorox from Time Cubicle 427.

"What is it, Blandin?" Halorox sounded bored, and with his job, no one could really blame him. "I've got a long day of pushing time buttons and sorting time packages to get to."

"Has anything come in for me? From say… the twenty-first century?" Blendin squaked in his vaguely annoying voice.

"Oh, yeah. You got a couple of packages. I'll beam them over to you here in just a second." Halorox said, clicking away at his time computer. "Anything else you want? Or are you gonna get off my time back now?"

Blendin paused, as a few glass bottles and a sweater stuffed in a ziploc gallon bag materialized next to him in a flash of blue light. "No thank you. Gotta get back to time business!"

Blendin adjusted his goggles, opening the ziploc bag first. The sweater inside was bright green, half a size too small, and said "I invoked Globnar and all I got was this SICK HAIRDO." There was a note attached, explaining that Mabel had forgotten what size Blendin was, and that if he didn't like it to just send it back. The letter was dated summer of 2012.

"Well, that's sweet, but why all the bottles?" Blendin wondered aloud, reaching over to grab one. He unscrewed the lid, and had to use a time screwdriver to get the letter out of the bottle. The handwriting was small and a little sloppy, but legible at least.

 _Dear Blendin Blandin,_

 _About two weeks ago our parents died in a car crash. Our Great Uncle Ford tried to save them but we lost them anyways. We know you're probably busy and might not want to help, but could you please use your time belt to help us save them? We need you. Please come to Gravity Falls again._

 _Love,_

 _Dipper and Mabel Pines, September 2012_

Oh dear.


	9. Extreme Makeover: Geezer Edition

23-8-1-20 1-18-5 25-15-21 23-5-1-18-9-14-7?  
2-15-24-9-14-7 7-12-15-22-5-19 4-15 14-15-20 3-1-12-12 1-7-1-9-14  
1-12-19-15 9 1-2-21-19-5 13-25 3-8-9-12-4-18-5-14

Two weeks had passed since Dipper and Mabel came to Gravity Falls to live with their Grunkles. It worried Stan to see his nephew and niece still depressed, still grieving the loss of their parents, but eventually he started to worry about their schooling; even with Ford giving the kids brief little lessons, they couldn't afford truancy charges. And though Ford had been getting better, he still wasn't in much condition to teach them. So Stan did research on the local middle school, spoke with teachers and principals, trying to ensure his kids' comfort in a new environment. He sure as hell wasn't going to tolerate the kids getting bullied, and made that very clear to the school staff.

The third week, he got all of their papers in order, checked the school bus route, and packed lunches for the twins. He knew how important an education really was, and wasn't going to let Dipper and Mabel be held back because of this.

"Are you sure about this, Stan? Being in a new place is stressful enough, adding school to the mix, especially when they might not be _ready_ …" Ford said, pacing near the stairwell, waiting for the kids to come downstairs.

"Ford. Calm down, you're more nervous than the kids are. Mabel is excited to go, her weird little friends will be there. Dipper is a little more unsure, but he's a tough kid, and a smart one, he needs to go to school. And he's got Mabel and her friends, too."

"I can teach them just _fine_ until they're ready, and Candy and Grenda can come visit anytime they want." Ford was wringing his hands. "They'll need to go eventually, I know, but I don't want to push them."

"The law is a lot stricter about kids missing out on school nowadays, if we hold them back, we could go to court, or the kids could go to juvy. Normally I'm fine with going against the law, but not if its gonna hurt the kids." Stan's voice was stern, he wasn't backing down on this.

"Homeschooling still _counts_ as an education, though, right? They technically haven't missed a beat."

"Ford, trust me on this. They _need_ to go." Stan said, putting an arm on Ford's shoulder.

Mabel came down the stairs in a cute pink sweater she made with a little pencil on the front, a coordinating skirt, and her light up sneakers. She put a lot of thought into her outfit, she even made earrings out of pushpins and paperclips and tiny food shaped erasers. Her backpack was brand new, a gift from Stan, and her books and supplies were all packed. Dipper didn't look as thrilled. His hat was tucked tightly on his head, he wore the same old t shirt and vest he always did, but swapped his shorts for cargo pants. He was clutching the journal he got from Ford for dear life, and he tried not to make as much of a scene as his sister.

"Grunkle Ford, get a picture of us!" Mable handed her Polaroid camera to Ford and threw an arm around Dipper to pose. "C'mon, Dipper, we got all the same classes, what could go wrong? Smile!"

Ford snapped a picture once Dipper got in the frame. It turned out to be a nice enough photo of the two of them, but Dipper was clearly still anxious.

"Dipper?" Ford said, kneeling down to his level. "You're going to do _great_. And if you need me, you can always, _always_ call me."

Dipper looked away and nodded, still holding his journal to his chest. "Thanks Great Uncle Ford." Dipper didn't make friends easily, and in addition to missing his parents, he missed his old friends too.

"I'll walk you two to the bus stop." Ford said, putting a hand on each of the kids' shoulders.

"I'll go with you." Stan said, giving Ford a pat on the back. "I can hand out some Mystery Shack flyers on the way."

Dipper looked _mortified._ "That's not such a good idea, Grunkle Stan. Maybe don't try to scam my peers?"

"I'm with Dipper. Remember the time mom gave out the phone number for her psychic hotline at the PTA bake sale?" Ford gave Stan a crooked smile.

Stan shuddered. So many calls for the _wrong_ kind of hotline. The one redeeming thing Filbrick had done in his life was go after any of the sickos who tried to harass their mother. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'll just tape a bunch of 'em to Soos' truck again and make him run some errands for me."

Mabel reached to tap Stan on the shoulder and whispered "Don't worry, I'll tell my friends about the Mystery Shack." She pointer her finger in the air and exclaimed "Let's get breakfast going, drink some Mabel Juice, and go socialize- I mean _learn_!" She marched into the kitchen and the sound of the blender filled the air. Dipper reluctantly followed her, planning on eating a slice of toast and little else.

"...I hope you're right about this, Stan." Ford said softly, sitting at the foot of the stairwell. "Being stuck in a new place is bad enough, being stuck in a _crowded_ new place…"

"He's been to public school before, Ford. He's used to the environment, its just new people. If anything goes wrong, the school knows to call me immediately." Stanley pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's just middle school. It's not some other dimension."

Mabel destroyed two bowls of Sugary Marshmallow Crunch Xtreme and a good glass full of Mabel juice. The kid's sack lunches were sitting on the table, each with a name on it in full caps. Mabel reached for some stickers in her backpack and decorated hers and Dipper's lunch. The prospect of school, new friends, it gave Mabel a healthy distraction from her grief, she felt most comfortable when surrounded by people. It gave her something to focus on.

Dipper nibbled at his toast, too worked up to eat much. He liked school well enough, he liked learning, but it was the other students that bothered him. Talking to people, saying the right thing, trying to fit in just came harder to him than it did to Mabel. He didn't understand what it was about him that made everyone seem to keep their distance, and that's what made him nervous.

Mabel glanced over at her brother and nudged him with her elbow. "Dip, will you be my bus buddy? I don't think I'm gonna know anybody on there. We can sit at the front just how you like." Mabel knew it was important to include her brother when it came to school, but she never talked down to him about it.

Dipper looked up from his toast, giving Mabel a tiny smile. "Thanks, Mabel."

After breakfast, Stan and Ford escorted Dipper and Mabel to their bus stop. There were a couple of kids there, ones that could be recognized from stopping by the Mystery Shack with their parents, or from Pioneer Day. They were pretty friendly, and greeted Dipper and Mabel with simple 'hello's. Stan and Ford stood back and watched the kids until the bus arrived and the kids disappeared into the foggy September street. Stanford tried not to look too worried, for Dipper and Mabel's sake.

"They'll be fine, Ford." Stan said, an arm around his brother's shoulder.

"I hope so." Ford sighed, and they began their walk back to the Mystery Shack. "Sorry I projected my own baggage onto the kids."

"I get it Ford, you want the best for them, just like I do. I know they can do it, they're good kids. If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't have sent them to school. So don't be sorry." Stan said, reaching into his pocket for his keys. Something caught Ford's eye in the distance.

McGucket was on the front porch in his sweater and overalls, pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. "They were here last night, I _remember._ I _know_ they were here! _"_

"Fiddleford? Are you alright?" Ford asked, running ahead of Stanley.

"Stanford! Stanford, I… I woke up and everyone was _gone_.." Fiddleford looked close to crazy, he'd been up since the Pines left, and he wasn't used to an empty house. Junkyard? Yes. House? No. "Where is everyone...did… Did they...?"

"No, everyone's _fine_ , Dipper and Mabel had to go to school, I'm so _sorry_ Fiddleford. I didn't want to wake you up so I…" Ford put his hands on Fiddleford's shoulders. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't _thinking_ … I should've..." Ford was at a loss for words. If _he_ had woken up to a suddenly empty house? He'd be in a worse state than Fiddleford was in now.

"No... _I'm_ sorry. I overreacted. I should'a guessed that the kids had to go to school. I'm okay... And yer okay, right?" Fiddleford searched Ford's face for any sign of distress.

Stan caught up with Stanford and panted. "What's the big idea, Ford, you trying to race me... Am I interrupting something?" Stanley saw the two geezers on the porch staring in each other's eyes and waggled his eyebrows.

"No you most certainly are _not_ , Stanley." Ford said, a little too quickly, his face red, remembering the way Stan had laughed when Soos suggested he and Fiddleford were involved.

Fiddleford blushed as well and pulled his hands inside of his sweater sleeves. "I just thought y'all went missin, but I just slept in late it seems. Carry on, fellers." Mcgucket headed for the door and realized he accidentally locked himself out. "Er… you two wouldn't happen to have yer keys on ya, w-would ya?"

"Right here, Fiddlenerd." Stan said, jingling his keys, and tossing them to Fiddleford. Fiddleford grabbed for the keys and took a few tries to get the door unlocked. Stan paused, glancing between Ford's threadbare sweater, frayed slacks, and worn out boots, and Fiddleford's disgustingly ratty overalls that his sweater only half disguised. "Well… Since the kids are gone until four… You two knuckleheads wanna go out and get you some new clothes? You both look like you escaped from the world's worst nursing home."

"Aw, you don' halfta worry about me none." Fiddleford said.

"Absolutely not, thank you for offering. I'm fine the way I am." Ford said, clutching his coat.

"You don't have to throw that thing away, but getting some new shirts and pants for the _both_ of you is a good idea. And you both could use a visit to the barber too. When's the last time you did somethin' nice for yourselves?"

"I'll have you know that I let myself sleep in for an extra thirty minutes last week. You don't have to worry about me." Ford paused. "And if you think I'm letting _anyone_ near my _neck_ with sharp instruments of _any kind_ , you've got another thing coming."

Stanley rubbed his temples and groaned. "I'm gonna be honest, you both look gross. A new change of clothes and haircut aren't so bad. I'll pick everything out myself if I have to. I won't even make you get rid of your sideburns, Ford.

"It's not the stupid _sideburns_ , Stanley, it's the potential for _murder_. Jesus, is Sweeney Todd no longer a cultural staple in this dimension?"

Fiddleford looked down at his shabby beard, his overalls were practically rotting off of his frail body. He felt pretty self conscious about his appearance, and now that he was regaining memories, he was starting to become ashamed of himself again. "I wouldn't mind gettin' cleaned up..." Fiddleford admitted. Ford paused for a moment, staring at his friend.

"...I guess it wouldn't hurt to buy some new boots. But no new _pants_ , no new _shirts_ , and _definitely_ no new _haircuts_ for me." Ford said, crossing his arms.

Stan crossed his arms and thought of ways to get around his brother's conditions. "Alright then, it's a deal, I'm taking you nerds shopping."

Fiddleford grabbed his floppy hat and put it on excitedly, he hasn't gotten the chance to present himself the way he felt comfortable in a while. He'd been bathing every day since he came to live with the Pines, but clothes would make a huge difference.

After Stanford and Fiddleford somewhat cleaned themselves up, Stanley loaded them in the Stanley Mobile and drove off towards the Gravity Falls Shopping Center.

"Just you two wait, you're gonna love this place. It's got everything! Beeply Boops, Overalls Are Cool Now, Edgy on Purpose, Build a Beaver, Jam Zone, Hoo Haa's, I'm pretty sure there's a store called Pants... It's a real money maker!"

Ford didn't understand 80% of the words that came out of Stan's mouth. "What… do most of these establishments sell? Exactly?"

"Well, Soos bought a living video game at Beeply Boops, and my/your ex husband Old Goldie murdered an animatronic badger outside the Hoo Haa's, and I'm pretty sure Edgy on Purpose sells clones of that Robbie kid."

Ford was vaguely concerned, but Fiddleford was intrigued, and his face lit up when they pulled into the parking lot. He rarely made it to this side of the town, since most of his travelling was done on foot, and he had never witnessed the Mall firsthand. "Its huge! How many stores did ya say are in there?"

"I dunno, maybe thirty?" Stan shrugged, and floored the gas pedal, beating out some trophy wife in a station wagon to a good parking space. "Take that, you floozy! Not all of us can marry rich!"

"Stan, don't you think that's a little demeaning?" Ford huffed. "You already made her circle half the lot, you don't have to insult her life choices."

Stan rolled his eyes and stepped out of the car. "Alright, let's get going. I'm buying you a couple of outfits each, a haircut for you, Fiddlenerd, and we can eat at the food court. Stay together, I don't want either of you getting lost."

"We're not _children_ , Stanley. We can find our way around a shopping mall." Ford said, arms folded over his chest, hunching in on himself.

"You'd be surprised, Ford." Stan led them to the main entrance and the doors opened automatically. Fiddleford held onto the edge of Ford's trenchcoat and looked around rapidly, trying to take it all in at once.

The mall was absolutely huge, easily one of the largest buildings in Gravity Falls. "Gentlemen, welcome to the exact kind of soul sucking, cash grabbing cesspool I hope to run one day!"

Fiddleford gravitated towards a computer store, showing off fancy new monitors in the window. Stan had to yank him back by his sweater. "We can look at the toys after we're done, Fiddlenerd."

Stan led them past a decent crowd of people. It was a weekday afternoon, but there was still a little traffic. They stopped in an outlet store first, Clothes for the Elderly, a place that carried the unwanted stock of department stores for cheap, and that was right up Stan's alley.

The racks in Clothes for the Elderly were filled with clothes that were fairly out of fashion, but they were nice and generously marked down. Stan led his two companions over to the men's section, and admired a terrible silk shirt that the 1970s threw up onto a mannequin. "This. This is fashion."

Fiddleford reluctantly touched the clothes on the racks and looked through the nice button up shirts hanging in a circle. The fabric felt almost luxurious, Fiddleford hadn't worn anything like it in years.

"Are you sure 'bout this, Stanley?" Fiddleford asked, twirling his beard around his fingers. "I don' have anythin to pay you back with."

"You're always cleaning up the house and helping Ford with his science stuff. Consider it a gift, no, a _paycheck_ , alright? Pick out whatever you want." Stanley said, grabbing a few shirts off the rack and checking the tags.

Fiddleford grabbed one of the hangers and held it up to his body. The shirt fell down past his waist, it was much too big, but he smiled at the look of it. "Somethin' like this?"

"Yeah! Now we just gotta find you the right size." Stan said, looking up from the shirts in his hand.

Ford stood off to the side, arms folded, careful not to touch any of the fabric. Fiddleford turned to him, showing off a shirt with a god awful camouflage pattern and grinned. "What do you think, Stanford?"

"...I think you should try it on, Fiddleford." Ford said with a light smile. He wasn't aware of any passing or failed fashion trends: he genuinely thought Fiddleford would look good in the shirt.

Stanley grabbed it with a pile of other shirts and draped them over one of his arms. "How about we find you some pants too? Ford, do you see somethin' you like?"

Ford resisted the urge to say 'the exit' and cleared his throat. "Er, no, I'm fine, thank you."

Stanley sighed and dragged Fiddleford over to a rack of pants. He grabbed the smallest sizes and held them up to Fiddleford, trying to tell which size he should be. "Alright… just… you'll have to try these on too." Stan said, handing a few pairs of pants to Fiddleford.

"Well, hornswaggle my goat's tees, let's go find a fittin' room." Fiddleford said with a chortle. Thank God it was an establishment where you didn't have to rely on an employee to let you in and out of the changing rooms. Otherwise, Ford would have been halfway to the Mystery Shack before Stan could blink. Once Fiddleford had gone into a fitting room, Stan turned to Ford, and held out a few shirts from one of the racks.

"Listen, I know you don't think you need any, but you can't keep wearin' that sweater all the time, so I grabbed these off the rack. I already checked, none of them are nylon, I know you're funny about that." Stan's voice was low, so any passersby couldn't hear. "Please, at least try 'em on?"

Ford stared at the shirts Stan was offering. They were button up shirts in solid colors, light blues and mustard yellows. They looked like things he would've worn thirty years ago, before he fell into the portal. Gingerly, he reached out to take them. "I… appreciate it, about the nylon, Stan. I'll… go try these on. Sorry for being a bother earlier." Ford said, before disappearing into one of the fitting rooms.

Stan stared for a moment. Something wasn't right about this. A few weeks ago, Stan would have given anything to hear Ford apologize, but now he was beginning to sound like a broken record. He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, when Fiddleford burst out of the fitting room, looking like a loon in a camouflage shirt and pink plaid golf pants, but he hadn't looked happier in years.

"You look… _better_ than you did earlier, that's for sure." Stan said, smirking. "Go try a different outfit out, we're getting that one."

"Really? Y'sure?" Fiddleford asked.

"Yeah, and go grab you some shoes, too." Stanley said with a wave of his hand.

Fiddleford skedaddled back to the dressing room to try on a different set, going for acid washed dad jeans and a shirt with a built in sweater vest.

"...Is he gone?" Stan heard Ford whisper from behind the fitting room.

"Yeah, poindexter, he's gone. Mind tellin' me why you're so shy around the guy running around in a camo shirt and pink golf pants?" Stan said.

"No, it's not that I'm _shy_ I just don't…" Ford sighed, opening the door to the changing room. He'd picked out the blue shirt, and it fit him well. His trench coat hung loosely over his shoulders, not clutched tightly around himself as it had been earlier. "I just… feel like I'm walking on _eggshells_ around him. Anything I say or do could jog his memory of _anything_ , and at least one of those memories is the one that made him found a mind-erasing cult in the first place." Ford paused, looking down at himself. "...So you got me in this thing. How do I look?"

When Fiddleford came out to show off his second outfit, he caught a glimpse of Ford in a brand new blue button up, and covered his mouth. It was like an instantaneous glimpse to the past, There was, Stanford Pines, PhD. Handsome and somewhat-humble (at least he seemed that way to Fiddleford) and intelligent. _Oh no, he's hot._ Fiddleford tried sneaking back into his fitting room but walked backwards into the wall with a loud _thump! "_ DAGNABBIT _"_

"Sorry." Ford said before ducking back into the fitting room, suddenly itching to take off the shirt.

Stanley stood outside, dumbfounded. _Well, looks like Mabel was onto something after all._

Fiddleford hurried and changed back into his overalls and sweater. He brought back the clothes that fit, his face still red. "Thank you, Stanley, I think I'm gonna look mighty nice, all thanks to you."

"Oh, we're not quite done yet." Stan said, mischief gleaming in his eyes. He leaned down and whispered to Fiddleford. "Alright, you see those suits over there? I want you to go pick out one for yourself and try it on." He slipped two hundred dollars into Fiddleford's pocket, with a wink. "Poindexter and I are gonna go look for shoes or whatever. Just grab the suit that fits and buy it, we'll meet at the food court." This was shaping to be the best day Stan had had in awhile.

Fiddleford didn't know what to say, and especially didn't know how argue with Stanley 'smooth talking' Pines. He simply nodded and hobbled over to the display of suits. His eyes were drawn to a forest green suit, complete with a turtleneck sweater and green and brown plaid slacks. The price tag said the suit was one hundred and seventy-five dollars, on clearance. He grabbed the suit and hoped it would fit him when he tried him on.

"Hey, poindexter? Fiddleford said he was gonna go find some more shirts or whatever, and that he'd meet us at the food court. Wanna go pick out some boots or something?" Stanley said, giving the fitting room door a light knock.

"Alright, what's going on?" Ford said, poking his head out the fitting room door. " _You_ were the one who wanted us to stick together."

"Hey, don't look at me! He suggested it! And since you were the one who said you two could handle it, and _you_ were the one who said you felt like walkin' on eggshells around Fiddleford, I thought, hey, why not?" Stan said, throwing his arms up. "If you're worried, we can go find him. He's just on the other side of the store."

"No… no it's fine. Let's just go find some boots." Ford said, pulling his trench coat tighter around him and grabbing the three button up shirts Stan had picked out.

"There we go!" Stan said, clapping his brother on the back and leading him to the shoe department, and far, far, away from the suits.

Fiddleford tried the suit on in his fitting room, and it fit like a glove, like it was tailored to fit only him. He was so mesmerized, he didn't notice Stan and Ford had already left. Maybe if he got a different hat… and once he got his beard trimmed… Yes, he'd look dashing. There was something familiar about the color, something that reminded him of home, something that made him stand up a little straighter. Slowly, he lifted his beard, trying to get a good feel for what he'd look like when he got it cut. Fiddleford smiled, feeling better about his appearance than he had in a very long time, and slowly changed out of the suit. Yes, this would be the suit he would purchase.

Stan brought a couple of different pairs of boots to Ford to try on, probably too many pairs now that he thought about it. He needed to keep Ford distracted, so Fiddleford could find the perfect suit. A man's favorite suit was hard to find, and it would definitely take some time. "Here, you're still the same shoe size as me, right?"

"I'm not sure, I haven't exactly been measuring your foot size Stanley." Ford snipped.

"Yeesh! What's got your panties in a twist?" Stan said, setting the shoes down next to a bench.

"Sorry! Sorry, I'm… I'm just stressed, I didn't mean to snap." Ford said, wringing his hands.

"I can tell, poindexter, what's the problem?" Stan sat on the bench next to Ford.

"The… crowd. It's just the crowd, Stan. Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you." Ford glanced around the store, trying to come up with another lie.

"Stanford the store is empty. You don't have to bullshit me. Tell me what's up." Stan put a hand on Ford's shoulder.

"You wouldn't understand, I'm sorry, please just drop it."

Stan went quiet and stared down at the pile of boots in front of them. "I can try to understand, Ford. Who could understand you better than your twin?"

"No, I can't, you don't need to deal with this too, alright? Let's just… let's just try on the shoes, I'm sorry I snapped."

"Don't worry about it, you didn't exactly hurt my feelings." Stan picked up a boot he'd grabbed jokingly, a white one with a pretty high heel. "This one's my favorite. You could probably stab a guy with this thing!" He said, smirking, trying to get a rise out of Ford. His face fell when he noticed Ford wasn't smiling. "...Not your style?"

"Not really, no… Sorry…"

"Ford, you sound like a broken record. What's going on with you?" Stan paused, turning the boot in his hands. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"...If I was wrong about you… then who else was I wrong about, Stanley? I'd thought you'd done something manipulative and awful and that wasn't even the full story. What if… What if everyone _else_ is like that too and I'm just an asshole who can't figure out when someone cares about me?"

"Woah, hold on there. You are not an ass. Sometimes you're a little stupid, and sometimes you're a little mean, but we all are. You've been hurt, by things who sound like _real_ assholes. And you didn't deserve any of that." Stan said, briefly recalling some of what Ford had said the night before he apologized, the night he'd gotten drunk in the kitchen.

"Stan, I made a deal with a _demon_. That demon wants to try to end the world and everyone in it. Sounds pretty jerkish to me. Look, you don't have to deal with this, let's just… let's just forget about it..." Ford sighed. "I don't know."

"Yeah, a demon who lied to you. Isn't that kinda their thing? You didn't know what you were getting into, you didn't set out to hurt anyone. You did something stupid, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out you got treated in ways you don't deserve. Ways _nobody_ deserves. And I _do_ understand what you're going through. That feeling that the people who hurt you might actually be right? That you're the awful one instead? That's normal, that's a part of what makes shit like that so bad. So you were probably wrong about one person, who cares? Hell, if I'd known forty years ago that you thought I was being an abusive, manipulative prick I'd have called sooner, and I'd _definitely_ would have understood your reaction a little better." Stan paused, scratching his chin. "And you know what always helped me out? Thinking of it like: 'would dad do x thing?' Because dad was a prick. I couldn't always see it when he was a prick to me, but he was definitely a prick to you, so I'd just use him to compare _other_ assholes to. If they matched? I'd throw 'em out." Stan set the heeled boot down and took a breath, hoping he would get through to Ford.

Ford sat for a moment, the wheels in his head turning a mile a minute, before looking up in realization. The next thing Stanley knew, Ford had wrapped him in a bear hug.

"...I don't think dad would have spent thirty years getting me out of another dimension." He said softly. "So… Thank you."

"You're welcome." Stan squeezed Ford tight and gave him a loving pat. "Heh, you know, if you owed him enough money he might, but he would have given up before I did." Stan chuckled, attempting to make a joke.

"Heh, that, and I don't think he'd even bother trying to decode the blueprints." Ford said, though Stanley couldn't entirely tell if he was chuckling or sobbing.

"Let's get some new shoes on your feet, huh? I still think you should go with the knife heel." Stan said, picking the boot back up and making a stabbing motion.

"God, I missed you, Stan."

"I missed you too Ford." _You don't even know_. "All of this sentiment is makin' me hungry. Pick some boots out and I'll treat you to the finest two dollar corn dogs money can buy."

"They still make corn dogs?" Ford's smile was wide. He hadn't felt this at peace in a long time.

"Of course, the apocalypse hasn't hit yet!"

"Oh, lord, to think I almost destroyed corn dogs with my vaguely demonic quest for science! I'll add it to the list of my sins." Ford said, chuckling. "Okay… how about… these boots, and…" Ford paused, a pair of brown hiking boots in his hands. He took a deep breath. "How about the knife heel?" He asked quietly.

"Yes! Kick ass and take names! Why should women get to have the coolest and most dangerous footwear?! It's 2012, we can do what we want!"

"... _Wait_." Ford said, squinting. "...So this is a _women's_ shoe… and if I were to wear this, _in public_ , that would be _fine_? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Well… It still varies depending on where you live, but in a town where people marry woodpeckers and raccoons, and the only two cops are the most married cops I've ever seen, pretty much anything goes." Stan shrugged and admired the other boot. "You'll let me borrow these, right?"

Ford was genuinely surprised. "Wait… So when Soos brought that air mattress over to the Shack… and you were laughing… You weren't laughing _at_ … You were…"

"I was laughing at Mabel trying to hook you two up! And Soos' description of McGucket. Priceless. Nobody cares who you like, Ford. Not here anyways, times are different. The most famous talk show host on TV is an openly gay woman with a hot wife. And even if things weren't like that, you know I'm always here to help you out. These studly charms attract people of _all_ genders, if you know what I mean." Stan waggled his eyebrows and flexed his arms.

"Wait, _you're_ …? But you always… You had those pin-up calendars!"

"Yeah, I swing both ways. I don't exactly do a lot to hide it, I thought you knew." Stan shrugged. It was just natural to him, he didn't care what others thought. Not anymore, at least.

"Well, I didn't." Ford leaned back against the shelves.

"Ford, I've been married to a man before."

"You married an _animatronic gold miner_." Ford said, crossing his arms.

"He was _male,_ and the best partner I've ever had. I'm sort of a gay marriage pioneer." Stan half joked.

"Gay _WHAT_?!" Ford was red at this point.

"Oh, yeah, that's legal now. Mostly. I'd say give it another three or four years for the rest of the country to pull their heads outta their asses. I've got money riding on 2015."

" _Wait_. Why did Fiddleford _really_ leave the group? What did you-" Ford's blush had reached the tips of his ears. "You're trying to set me up! Stan! I'm not _ready_ to figure out where me and Fiddleford are at. I know it's gotta happen, but I'm not sure if he's even going to _like me_ in a few weeks."

Stan kept a straight face. "I don't know what you're talking about." He wasn't quite the smooth matchmaker his great-niece was, but he _was_ a firm believer in dating whoever was into you.

"Where did you send Fiddleford? What is he going to buy?"

"I sent him to the food court, remember? He's going to meet us there."

"Stan, please, I know you're not telling the whole truth. Stan, I _can't do this_. Not now." Ford was pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You don't have anything to worry about, Ford. I sent him to pick out a suit, okay? You looked like you needed a break anyways. I was going to try and hook the two of you up at the food court, but I'll leave you be, okay? You don't have to do anything you don't wanna do."

"Thank you, Stan." Ford said, his blush dying down. "... I still want the knife heel, though."

At the food court, Fiddleford was waiting with his shopping bags full of new clothes, and his old outfit. He'd worn the leisure suit out of the store, so proud of his new style. He sat at a table by himself, a little nervous that Stan and Ford would leave him there. He grinned when he saw the two brothers walking towards him, and waved his hand to signal them. Stan let out a low whistle at the sight of Fiddleford, impressed with his sense of style after having the bar set so low earlier. Ford stood perfectly still, a blush creeping back up on his face. _Oh no, he's still hot._

"Alright, knuckleheads. Time for questionably made corn dogs, then we get Fiddleford a new hat and a haircut." Stan said, shaking his fist and leaving Ford and Fiddleford alone, heading towards a cart marked 'Meat Cute' to get lunch.

Fiddleford stared at his lap and fidgeted with the lapel of his jacket, he had to make sure he looked okay. "S-so...did ya get yerself some new boots?" Fiddleford asked, looking up at Stanford. Ford couldn't help but notice that the green suit did wonders for Fiddleford's wrinkly old eyes.

"...I did, actually. Some hiking boots and… some heels. For stabbing." Ford said, reaching into his plastic bag, pulling out the faux leather boots in question.

"Well, ain't those somethin! I bet you look mighty nice...er- stabbin people in those boots...?" Fiddleford tugged at his beard. Did this have to be the time to get tongue-tied?

"W-well… It's better than having to carry around a knife… Right?" Ford stuttered.

"Sure! I suppose... It sure is awful nice fer Stanley to be treatin' us. I'm mighty grateful for gettin' to stay with you two and those kids." Fiddleford said softly.

"I'm glad you're here, Fidds…" Ford said. "... You don't… Do you mind? That I call you Fidds?"

Fiddleford shook his head with a smile. "I don't mind." It felt so good to be called by his sweet nickname again, especially now that he remembered what it was and who gave it to him.

"...Fidds, when we get back… Do you-"

"Alright, nerds, I got the meat! What'd I miss?" Stanley said, plopping down a box of corn dogs and taking a seat.

Fiddleford almost yelped, he wasn't prepared for the moment to be ruined. "Well, Stanford was just showin off his fancy stabbin boots."

"Oh, yeah, those are great." Stan said, munching on a corn dog. "...You two gonna eat anytime soon?"

Fiddleford gingerly took his corndog and began to eat after Stan and Ford started, he didn't want to be the odd one out. "I do appreciate you doin' this fer us, Stanley."

"I told you, don't worry about it. This is your paycheck, remember? I owe you." Stan said. Because of Fiddleford, the Mystery Shack was still running, Stan and Ford had gotten the chance to make up, and after all Fiddleford did for them during Shiva? Stan couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, but he really was glad Fiddleford was around.

Fiddleford found himself chewing on the corndog stick when he was done and quickly snapped out of it. Ever since he started eating regularly again, his appetite had grown.

"So… the suit looks nice." Ford said, clasping his hands together. "Green's… a good color, on you."

Stanley had to force himself not to grin like an idiot.

Fiddleford fumbled for words and tugged at his beard. "W-well, that's mighty sweet of you to say, S-stanford." He managed to blurt out. "Though, I wouldn'ta got it without Stanley's advice."

"Well, every man needs a suit, that's what I always say." Stan said, sipping on a soda to try and hide a smirk. "All we have to do is shave that small animal off of your face and you'll be lookin' almost as sharp as me!"

"Aw, shucks, you've already done so much fer me, you don' halfta get me a haircut!" Fiddleford said.

"No. I do. Trust me, you'll look like a completely different person, and you'll feel a lot better once you've got that thing off your face." Stanley insisted. "If everyone's done, let's get a move on to the barber. There should be one on the second floor."

Fiddleford got up from his seat, standing a little straighter than usual, and grabbed his shopping bag. Ford couldn't help but notice that Fiddleford stood up to his shoulders now that he wasn't hunched over. Fiddleford happily followed Stanley to the escalator and reluctantly hopped on, cackling like a maniac as they rode their way to the second level. "This is like that carnival all over again!" He said.

"You know, you'd be surprised how many dimensions don't have these." Ford said, trying to focus less on all the people around him and more on just getting to the hairdressers. It was a nice shop, classy, but not too expensive. There weren't very many customers in the shop, and it was very quiet.

Stanley pulled Fiddleford up to the front counter to address the pretty young lady looking through the appointment book. "Hey there, gorgeous, my friend here needs to do something about his facial hair."

" _Stan_." Ford hissed. " _Stop flirting._ "

The young lady giggled and waved her hand. "I don't mind, I've gotten much worse, from people I've known for a lot less time than Stan." She turned to address Fiddleford with the appointment book and a pen in her hands. "What's your name honey, and what are we doin' to ya? I see you wanna trim your beard. Are you gettin rid of it all together?"

"No! I-I mean, I want to keep some of it." Fiddleford tugged at his beard once more. His beard had kept him warm for so many years, it was a part of who he was. "Maybe… a few inches above this here bandage? It won't come out, an' believe me, I've done tried about everythin' I could think of. Oh, and my name is Fiddleford."

"That's a new one! I'll take care of it, dear. Go take a seat in that chair over there and we'll get you started." She pointed to an empty chair in front of a mirror and wrote Fiddleford's name down. The hairdresser that came out to work on Fiddleford's beard couldn't have been older than twenty-five, and looked like she was fresh out of beauty school. She wore her black hair tied back away from her face, and a blue turtleneck sweater.

"Alright, Fiddleford, just leave a couple inches?" She said, gently running her fingers through Fiddleford's beard to mark how short it should be. "Like this?"

"Yes, that should do the trick." Fiddleford took a deep breath. He gripped the chair as he was spun around to face his hairdresser and she grabbed her scissors.

Every muscle in Ford's body tensed in that moment. His hand flicked down to his coat pocket, where he knew he'd stashed a switchblade, and fumbled around with it, fingers gripping the hilt, careful to not let anyone else in the room know he had a weapon.

She snipped at Fiddleford's beard, right above the bandage, and a pile of his hair fell to the floor. "Wow, you must have been growing this out for years!"

Ford glared at the poor hairdresser, a glare that said _touch him again and_ _ **perish**_. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stan quickly shake his head at him, pleading with him not to mess this up for any of them. Ford only gripped the concealed switchblade tighter.

The hairdresser trembled at Ford's glare and placed her scissors aside. "How a-about we shampoo what's left of you…?"

"Well, Fiddleford, you take your time, Ford and I are gonna wait outside, don't wanna crowd anyone!" Stan said, grabbing Ford by the arm and dragging him away, to a bench just outside the salon. "Ford, they're hairdressers, not _assassins_!"

" _Stanley, I swear, if that woman so much as harms a hair on his head I'll destroy her._ " Ford said through clenched teeth, pacing around outside the salon, still gripping the knife in his pocket.

"That's the _idea_ , Ford."

" _Letting someone behind you with a goddamn_ _ **knife**_ _, it's practically suicide! Well, damn it all if I'm gonna let anything happen to Fidds, not_ _ **again**_ _._ " It took every ounce of self control Ford had to not charge back into the salon and drag Fiddleford out of there, at any costs.

"Ford, they're _scissors_. If she hurts him, she'll go to _jail_ , and what's worse, she'll have _you_ to deal with. Just take a few deep breaths." Stanley placed a hand on Ford's shoulder and took a deep breath, trying to get Ford to do it with him. "You're gonna be fine, Fiddleford is gonna be fine... What's got you so protective of him all of the sudden?"

"Stan, I'm protective of everything, you _know_ that." Ford said, furrowing his brow.

"Yeah, of your possessions. And your family." Stan paused, smirking. "I knew you had the hots for him, Ford!"

"He's my _friend_ , first and foremost." Ford said, still glaring at the salon. "I can't lose him again."

Stanley sighed and placed his hands on his hips. "He won't get hurt. He's going to come out of that salon looking and feeling better than he probably has on a while. If you can't trust the barber, at least trust _me_."

Ford took a deep breath and sat down on the bench. "...I still think it's dangerous." He muttered.

Stan took a seat next to Ford and chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I go there all the time, the ladies there love me, they're gonna do a fine job on Fiddlenerd."

"I figured… I still don't trust them, but that receptionist said she knew you…" Ford sighed, furrowing his brow.

"Stanford? You doing okay?" Stan asked.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. When I walked out of the portal I was fine, but the more time passes the worse I get, I feel like I'm losing my mind all over again…" Ford paused, taking a deep breath. "Remember at the bar mitzvah?" Tears welled up in Ford's eyes at the thought of that night, but he blinked them away: he had to get this off his chest. "When Alexandria and I ducked out of the party… She gave me her business card. She was a therapist, apparently. I'm still kicking myself for not figuring it out sooner. I was going to schedule an appointment with her. Finally get some help. And _now_ look what happened."

Stanley could feel his heart shatter. "Ford… you know that's not your fault right? It was all a freak accident. At least we know that she really cared about you... She was a good woman." Stanley placed a hand on Ford's back. "You could still get help, if you wanted. I could find someone who would help you."

"Yeah, someone who wouldn't immediately call the authorities or _worse_? Stan, it wasn't just because she was a therapist, I _trusted_ her. And she trusted me, she trusted _us,_ and I let her and her husband down." Ford sighed. "Let's just drop it, okay? This was supposed to be a good day until I started blathering…"

"I'll drop it if you want me to, but you can't blame yourself, Ford." Stan sighed and let go of his brother's back.

Soon after Stan and Ford's silence, Fiddleford stepped out of the barber shop, looking around for Stan so he could pay. His beard was trimmed close to his face, but still had enough to be a terrible mall Santa. It suited him. He waved when he spotted Stan and Ford.

"See? What'd I tell ya? Looks good, eh?" Stan said, elbowing Ford. Ford gave a crooked smile, his face turning a bit pink.

"Yeah, I suppose he does."

Stan got up from the bench and popped his back with a wince, and strolled back into the shop to pay for Fiddleford's makeover, being sure to apologize for Ford, he's still messed up from Vietnam, see? This Vietnam, not any other alternate version of Vietnam. Multiverse theory? What's that?

Fiddleford sat next to Ford on his bench while Stan smooth talked his favorite hairdressers. "So...what do you think?"

"You look nice, Fidds. It suits you." Ford said, fidgeting nervously.

"Thank you... And thanks for lookin out for me back there. She didn't hurt nothin but my beard."

Ford paled, he hadn't thought that Fiddleford would notice that. "S-sorry. S-sci-scissors just… Scare me?" Ford wasn't looking at Fiddleford, he was too nervous to try and come up with a decent lie.

"Aw, hush, you don' halfta sugarcoat nothin' fer me." Fiddleford smiled gently and stroked his newly cropped beard. "You and yer brother are rather nice."

"Thank you…" Ford said, giving Fiddleford a light smile. "Fidds, when we get home, how about we take a break from the memory machine? Just sit out on the porch for a while?"

"I would like that!" Fiddleford grinned and clutched his shopping bags. "One thing I do remember, is that Gravity Falls is mighty beautiful this time'a year."

"Yeah, if you like things that are _terrible_." Stan said, walking up to the two of them and putting his wallet away. "The only thing this time of year is good for is ending the tourist season so I can get some decent shut eye every once in awhile. You two ready to go?"

"I believe we are, Stanley." Ford said, a soft smile spreading across his face.

Fiddleford nodded and stood up with Ford, standing tall and confident with his new look. He looked like a skinny leisure suit Santa Claus, but that was Fiddleford's newfound aesthetic. Ford couldn't help but smile at Fiddleford's confidence, it was a welcome sight after so long.

The three old men made their way back to the Stanley Mobile, and on the road back to the Shack. Ford sat with Fiddleford in the back seat, partially to keep him company, and partially so he'd have a distraction from Stan's various... comments, gestures, and reactionstowards other drivers.

Thankfully, they made it to the Shack in one piece, about an hour before the kids would get off of the bus. Fiddleford excitedly ran inside to put away his new clothes, and get ready for his possibly-a-date with Ford. He changed into the more casual pink golf pants, and a new solid purple button up. He paused for a moment, before grabbing his banjo and heading out to the porch. Stanford was already sitting on the old couch outside, with an unopened Pitt Cola in each hand.

"I, uh, grabbed you one from the fridge." Ford said, handing a soda to Fiddleford. "...Today was a good day, overall."

Fiddleford leaned his banjo on the arm of the couch and took the soda from Ford. "I agree. I'm feelin' like a million bucks."

"I'm glad… And, I'm… Sorry about freaking out earlier, at the salon." Ford said, opening his soda with a slight hiss.

"Its quite alright. I reckon that you had a bad run in with someone wieldin' scissors, and you were just lookin' out for me." Fiddleford opened his soda and took a big gulp.

Ford stared at the man next to him. "...I suppose you could say that, yes. The… The other side of the portal was _awful_ , and I…" Ford took a deep, shaky breath. "I hope you _never_ have to go through anything like it." _Not again._ "After a while it… It messes with your head."

"I'm sorry that you had to go through that yerself." Fiddleford looked up to Ford with genuine sympathy. "You seem ta have come out of it alright! I've seen crazier folks down at the junkyard." Fiddleford set his cola down and grabbed his banjo, casually plucking the strings. "People have tried to take this here banjo from me for no good reason other than bein' mean-spirited. It's the only thing I've got from the past-times… so I've had to scare some folks off who I'm most certain were crazier than you."

"...Thank you?" Ford said. "Uh, you still play… You still play really well. I never thought I'd miss the sound of banjo music so much."

Fiddleford started to play a familiar tune, an old Fleetwood Mac that sounded particularly good on a banjo. Fiddleford hummed along, and looked the most relaxed Ford had seen him since Fiddleford was rescued from the bunker.

"Fiddleford… I'm sorry about what happened between us. About when we... er, broke up the first time, and about your memories." Ford said, after a long while.

Fiddleford stopped and looked back up at Ford. "Well...I don't recall why broke up, and I know the memories had something to do with our work… but I don't blame you none. No matter who you were back then, you're a pretty nice feller now. And that's what matters, doesn't it?" Fiddleford took another sip of his Pitt Cola.

Ford froze. "...You know… Before she died, Alexandria tried to tell me the same thing?" He said, tears forming behind his eyes.

"Is that so...? She sounds like a smart lady." Fiddleford smiled and lightly touched Ford's shoulder.

"Very smart, she was a psychologist." Ford slowly leaned into the touch. "Do you… Fidds, do you think I let them down?" A tear slid down his face.

"Not at all, Stanford. You gave 'em a chance to say goodbye to their kiddos. An' all of that you went through for their memorial? And you takin' care of those kids? You're doin' them some good. I reckon they're smilin' down on you." Fiddleford petted Ford's arm gently to console him.

"You know, Fidds?" Ford said, after a while. "I think… you might be right."

Fiddleford slowly reached to grab Ford's hand, entwining Ford's fingers with his. "Of course I'm right. I usually am 'bout this sorta thing."

Ford squeezed his hand tighter around Fiddleford's, as he watched Dipper and Mabel's silhouettes came into view.


	10. Dip's Declassified School Survival Guide

2-5-18-11-12-5-25'19 13-15-20-8-5-18 11-14-5-23 20-15-15 13-21-3-8, 14-15-23 8-5'19 1-12-12 19-8-5 8-1-19

The bus was crowded.

Dipper huddled closer to the window, not caring that the metal of the bus was too cold against his skin. Mabel sat next to her brother with her backpack in her lap. She shook a leg with anxiety, but she couldn't tell if it was good or bad anxiety yet. Their stop was first, so they'd gotten first pick of the seats. Dipper picked the third seat from the front. Not too close where the weird kids sat, but not in the most likely reserved seats for cool kids in the back. Unless, of course, Oregon used a different social hierarchy than San Francisco had. Dipper pulled his journal closer to his chest. Everything was different now, and he wanted more than anything to go back to the Shack and just spend the rest of the day doing weird science with Ford.

Mabel almost leapt out of her seat when Candy and Grenda boarded the bus, a few stops away. The three girls squealed at each other, and the duo of Candy and Grenda took the seat across from Dipper and Mabel.

"We are so excited that you are going to our school!" Candy adjusted her glasses and smiled. "You will get used to it in no time. Do you have your schedules?"

"Yep! How many classes do we have together?" Mabel said, digging her schedule out of her pocket.

Grenda grabbed it and scanned over it quickly. "You only have one with me, but we have lunch at the same time!" Grenda passed the schedule over to Candy. "What about you, Dipper?"

Dipper looked a little shocked that Mabel's friends were interested in his schedule too. "Um… let me see. I think Mabel and I have most of the same classes." Dipper fished his out of his vest pocket and passed it down. They did have the same classes, since Dipper opted out of honors classes in his new school. Being new was bad enough, but new and overloaded with homework and projects? Not ideal. Thankfully, neither Stan nor Ford had pushed him to apply for them anyways.

Candy speedread the two schedules and giggled softly. "We have a lot of classes together! You have PE with me and Gredna, and we have history together too."

Mabel took the schedules back and handed Dipper his. "You guys are gonna show us around right?"

"Of course!" Grenda said. "And during lunch, I'll show you how to get _on. The. Roof._ "

"Really?" Dipper seemed pretty excited at the notion. Being on the roof of the school would take the stress away from finding a lunch table. "Count us in."

The bus took thirty minutes to make its way to Northwest Middle School. As the kids stampeded off of the bus, Pacifica Northwest's limousine pulled up to the school, and the Northwest family driver let Pacifica out of the back seat. Mabel waved excitedly and shouted "HI PACIFICA IT'S YOUR PAL MABEL!" which made Pacifica blush and turn away. Mabel grinned "We're _totally_ gonna be best friends."

"I don't know Mabel. Pacifica was sort of cool this summer, but she is known to be cold and heartless at school." Candy explained as she led them all inside. Dipper tucked his journal into his vest, and gripped the straps of his backpack.

Mabel shook her head. "Nah, I know she can be a total sweetie." She elbowed Dipper and smiled. "Here we go, brobro." In the fifteen minutes before school officially started, Candy and Grenda gave the twins a little tour, showing them where they could find their classrooms and where their lockers were.

Pacifica Northwest's heeled shoes clicked against the linoleum as she walked into the school, searching the crowd for her clique. Preston and Priscilla Northwest weren't the type to allow their daughter to be associated with the "riffraff" of the town, but sending Pacifica to a faraway boarding school would mean sending her to a place where they could no longer control her, and no longer parade her as the town darling. Pacifica hated school with every fibre of her being, but when your parents are the richest and most powerful people in town, you can't really object, much to her disdain. When she finally caught up with her clique, she put on a smile to greet them.

"Jenny, Denise, Martha, Heather. What's the latest gossip?" She said in her snottiest voice.

"We've got a couple new losers at school, other than that, nothing's new." Denise said, filing her nails.

"I hear the boy's name is _Dipper_ , what kind of name is that? His parents must hate him or something." Heather scoffed.

Pacifica swallowed the urge to kick Heather in the nose, and smoothly replied, "Wait, Dipper Pines? I've actually met him, he and his sister were at my family's gala this summer."

"Wasn't _everyone_ at your family's gala this summer?" Martha deadpanned.

"Dipper and Mabel were invited beforehand." Pacifica said, with a wave of her hand, authority in her voice. "Their uncle is some bigshot PhD with a research grant that makes Jenny's parent's paychecks look like pennies."

Jenny balked and stuttered "I thought their uncle ran that ugly _tourist trap_ out in the woods?"

"Oh my god, Jenny. People can have more than one uncle. It's not like their gross wrinkly grandparents always have to stop at two kids or anything, there's not a _limit_."

Mabel waved at Pacifica and her posse from her locker across the hall, a big bracey smile on her face.

"Oh my god, _Pacifica_ ," Jenny mocked. "What is she wearing? Are those _pushpins_ in her ears?"

"Oh, Mabel designs her own clothes. Its called _couture_. Themed outfits are all the rage in San Francisco. Maybe if your parents could afford the trip you'd know that." It was one thing to insult Pacifica's friends, but it was quite another to insult Pacifica's friends while also undermining her authority in the group. Pacifica waved back to Mabel, smirking at her friends. "She's probably cooler than all of you put together, so you better watch what you say to her _and_ her twin brother. I don't seem to recall _any_ of you being on the original guest list for the gala last summer."

Mabel pumped her fist when Pacifica waved back. "Told ya!" The bell rang abruptly, making Dipper jump.

"They also don't have school bells in San Francisco." Pacifica added quickly. Pacifica's lackies 'ooo'd and 'ahh'd while they shuffled off to class.

Dipper used the school provided map to navigate to his first class, even though Candy and Grenda already showed him. He wasn't going to take any chances, not on his first day. Mabel tagged along behind Dipper and they survived their journey to first period. Homeroom.

The classroom was like any other normal classroom. Desks were lined up in columns, the teacher's desk sat in front of a whiteboard/projector setup, kids filed into the class and took their seats without any worries. Mabel scanned the room for two empty seats side by side, and pulled Dipper to sit on the second row with her. "Perfect!" The class was already crowded enough without Dipper and Mabel being added to the roster, but thankfully Dipper and Mabel managed to find two empty desks near each other.

Their teacher, Mrs. Chandler, sluggishly stomped in the class and sat at her computer, pulling up the class roster to take attendance. "Olson, O'Malley, Owens..." She kept going, looking up from her list to check the kids she knew by name and face, "Patterson, Perez...Pines? Max and Mabel Pines? It seems we have some new students. Max and Mabel, raise your hands."

Dipper looked like a deer in headlights and glanced to his sister, who already shot her hand up in the air. "Here! We're here!"

"I-I go by _Dipper_ , a-actually." He said in a small voice.

"Dipper...? Alright then..." The teacher typed that down in her computer. "Where are you two from? Are you twins?"

They hated the 'are you twins' question. Their favorite responses were "Technically no, we hatched from separate eggs by our velociraptor mother" or "No, we're clones" but this was not the time to be sarcastic.

Mabel put her hand down and clasped her hands together on her desk. "Yes, we're twins, and we're from San Francisco. We moved here… recently." She said. Dipper sunk as low in his seat as possible, trying desperately not to think about _why_ they'd had to move, and prayed that Mrs. Chandler didn't ask them.

The teacher responded with a simple, "Hm. Interesting. Welcome to Northwest Middle School." And continued the roll call.

Mabel passed a note to Dipper, written in her pink gel pen saying, 'its gonna be ok :) ' Dipper took it and, not wanting Mrs. Chandler to see and get in trouble, stashed the note inside his journal.

Mabel doodled in her sketch journal for the rest of the class and hopped up once the bell rang and students started packing up their supplies. A couple of them stared with curiosity at the Pines Twins, but Mabel easily ignored them. Dipper, however, was not so fortunate.

"Mabel, everyone's staring at me. I haven't talked to them yet and already they think I'm a freak." He whispered, keeping close to his sister.

"No they don't, Dipdop. They're just curious, we're the new kids. They probably want to talk to you but they're too shy. Just give everyone a chance!" Mabel patted Dipper's shoulder and weaved through the crowded halls with surprising ease.

Dipper pulled his journal out of his vest pocket and sighed. "Maybe I should call Great Uncle Ford…"

Mabel stopped and turned to Dipper. "No, you shouldn't. You haven't even gotten to a real class yet. I know you're scared, but once you finish this day out, you'll be proud of yourself. I know you will be. Don't give up so easy. Let's just put our books away and go to gym." Mabel said, gesturing to their lockers.

"... Alright." Dipper said, fumbling with the combination to his locker before it opened with a _click_. "Aw, geez."

"What is it?" Mabel asked, poking her head above Dipper's shoulder.

"I must have forgotten my science book at home, it's not in here." Dipper said, putting his journal in the locker. "I hope I can just borrow someone else's…"

Mabel handed hers over to Dipper. "I've got your back! Now put away all those books, we'll be late for P.E.!"

Dipper stacked Mabel's science book, his other textbooks, and his journal in his locker, and slammed it shut so it would stick. "I'd rather read all of those textbooks cover to cover than go to gym right now."

Candy and Grenda waited by the door to the gymnasium to meet up with the twins for P.E. Grenda pulled out what looked like two spare sets of clothes from her backpack. "I brought my extra gym clothes in case you guys didn't have any! They were from last year so they should fit you!"

"Thanks, Grenda." Dipper said, smiling a bit and holding up the clothes to his body. "Yeah, I think these'll work. Maybe you were right, Mabel. Things are probably gonna be alright."

"I'm _always_ right!" Mabel shouted, punching Dipper's arm. She followed her friends into the gym and took a deep breath as they approached the locker rooms. "See you on the outside, Dipper." Mabel pulled sunglasses from her backpack and put them on as she walked into the changing room " _I'm going in."_

Dipper headed into the boy's locker room and changed into his own gym clothes, he and a few other students filed out onto the basketball court, sitting on the floor, to wait for the coach to come out of his office. Their gym teacher, one Coach Berkley, was a tower of a man. He stood six feet tall, wore a cheesy yellow T-shirt that only barely covered his pot belly, and gross black gym shorts. His greasy blonde hair was parted to one side, angling down towards one eye, and he winked about every five seconds. Though he didn't exactly look the part, Coach Berkley enjoyed teaching gym, and rarely sat on the sidelines during class. Though, after an incident a few years ago involving the placement of five girls named Ashley Smith in one of his classes, he'd taken to giving every student a nickname.

"Good morning, Shortstack, Footloose, Kidney Bean." The coach said, marking attendance on a clipboard. "If you see a Mabel and a Maxwell Pines let me know."

Something about his appearance had Dipper on edge. Before Dipper could put his finger on the cause, their teacher caught sight of Dipper and blew his whistle loudly.

"Hey, you, pipsqueak. Take off that hat, now. You're out of dress code."

"W-what? But I've been wearing it all day and no one said anything!" Dipper stuttered, clutching his hat.

"Look, I don't care if no one said anything, _I'm_ saying it now. Just hand me the hat, you can have it back after class. You're the new kid, right? Maxwell? Look, you probably didn't know so I won't write you up, just hand me the hat."

Dipper froze, his hands were glued to the hat on his head. "I need it." He whimpered.

"Look, kid, if you've got a scar or acne or something, I can get you a sweatband or a giant bandaid, just take off the hat, it's against school rules." Coach Berkley said, grabbing Dipper's hat with a firm yank. "Oh, guess you're insecure about that thing, huh?" He remarked, taking note of Dipper's birthmark.

"Give it back, please!" Dipper squeaked, trying to grab at the hat.

"Look, kid, you can have it back after school." He paused, staring at the hat. "Well, I guess nicknaming you after your birthmark would be too cruel. Howsabout I just call you... Pine Tree?"

" _Nope._ " Dipper said, running out of the gym, ignoring Coach Berkley screaming at him to come back.

Mabel popped out of the locker room, wearing Grenda's giant gym clothes, and looked around for her brother. "Dipper?" She spotted the gym teacher with Dipper's hat and gasped, "What did you do with Dipper?!"

"Who?" The coach said, before it hit him. "Hey, earrings girl, I know a thing or two about giving people nicknames, and you can't go around nicknaming people for birthmarks they can't control. Especially if they're as insecure as that kid." Coach Berkley explained.

"My Dad gave him that nickname when we were born, you… you _jerk_!" Mabel exclaimed and snatched the hat from the teacher, speeding out of the Gym like her brother did.

"...What on earth?" Coach Berkley asked himself.

Mabel found her brother in the empty girl's locker room, pacing around, chewing on a pen.

"Mabel! I found you! Listen, we've gotta get outta here, we've gotta go back to the Shack!" Dipper said, grabbing Mabel's shoulders.

Mabel gasped, "What happened? I saw the coach took your hat, but was he really that mean to you?"

"Mabel, he's _Bill_." Dipper said, grabbing her wrist and leading her out of the locker room and down the hallway.

Mabel skidded her feet to try and stop them, but Dipper kept pulling. "Dipper, wait, are you sure? He acted like a jerk, but not like _Bill._ "

"He called me _Pine Tree._ He's Bill! We've gotta call Great Uncle Ford!"

"Dipper, he didn't call me Shooting Star! He didn't know who I was, I asked where you went and he didn't know your name either! He's just stupid, he's not Bill! I saw his eyes, they were regular! He probably just saw the tree on your hat, and thought you didn't want to be named after your birthmark. He called me 'earrings girl'! How lame is that?!"

"Hey, kids! Stop!" Coach Berkley yelled, huffing after the two. "Forget the hat, kid, I'd rather you and I _both_ get written up for ignoring the dress code than see you get truancy charges." He paused. "What had you so spooked? Was it something I said?"

Dipper glared at the coach, putting himself between Coach Berkley and Mabel. He walked as close to the portly gym coach as he dared, checking his eyes. "...I guess you are just a lame jerk…" He muttered under his breath.

"You kids are lucky I'm not throwing you in detention for skipping class! Go run laps with the other kids before I change my mind." The coach paused. "...Dipper, right? That's what your sister called you?"

"...Yeah." Dipper said, fidgeting with his gym clothes, still uneasy.

"Look, I know it's tough being in a new place, and I know you're probably scared. But believe me, the last thing I want to do is make a student upset. I'm not entirely sure what had you spooked back there, but I know I was the one who caused it, so, I'm sorry." Coach Berkley knelt down and offered his hand. "I'll let you wear the hat during gym to make up for it, but once you leave class I can't make any promises. Alright?"

Dipper reluctantly took the Coach's hand and shook, firmly like Grunkle Stan taught him. "Alright..."

"And, hey, if anyone or any _thing_ is trying to mess with you, you call me or another teacher, alright?" Coach Berkley said. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but this town gets a little weird."

Dipper retracted his hand and shoved it in his pocket. "Yeah, okay."

"Now get out of the hallway and go run. I won't tell anybody you ran away from class if you don't." Coach Berkley said, winking.

"Thanks. Can you… not wink so much? It kinda reminds me of… someone else." Dipper said, adjusting his hat and squinting up at the coach, double checking his eyes.

"Sure thing, Dipper." Coach Berkley gave a thumbs up this time, though now he was even more worried about his new student.

Mabel pulled Dipper back to the gym, the coach following them. "Dipper, we almost got in _trouble._ " Mabel whispered, "I know you were scared but you have to think stuff through before you start freaking out!"

"Look, I'm _sorry_ , but if it _had_ been Bill he could have hurt us! Hurt _you_! He- he could have called a conference with Grunkle Stan to get him to let him through the barrier!" Dipper said, tugging at his shirt.

Mabel sighed and crossed her arms. "I guess I see your point. But will you run stuff by me first next time?"

"...Fine. Speaking of running, we should probably get on that, before Coach Berkley decides to give us detention for real."

The rest of gym class went without a hitch, and the next two classes passed by with surprising ease, some kids said hello to the twins and made small talk. Dipper was relieved when the lunch bell rang, that meant the day was halfway over.

"Alright, guys." Grenda said, coming up behind them and grabbing their shoulders. "Dipper. Mabel. Are you ready for the coolest lunch you've ever _experienced_?!"

"Uh, sure?" Dipper said, shrugging. "So, we're gonna eat-"

"On. The. _Roof_." Grenda said, practically yelling every word. "Come on!"

Mabel and Candy giggled as Gredna grabbed Dipper and dragged him to the stairs by his band laws. She led them up the stairs and through a set of double doors, out onto the roof…

...Where the regular cafeteria was?

"When they were building the school, they forgot to add an actual cafeteria." Candy explained. "So the faculty moved all the tables up here, and we just eat lunch on the roof."

"Oh," Dipper said. "Well at least we're not breaking the rules by being up here?"

Mabel looked around for a table, and spotted Pacifica at a much nicer table than the rest of the school, and with a much nicer lunch too. The Pacifica posse were all gathered around, gossiping more than eating. Mabel waved and shouted across the roof, "PACIFICA, ANY MORE ROOM OVER THERE, BUDDY?"

Pacifica nearly jumped at the noise, but once she realized it was just Mabel she regained her composure. "Of course, Mabel. We have four more empty seats." She said with a smirk, sending a quiet threat to anyone who dared undermine her.

Mabel practically skipped over to Pacifica's table and pulled out her sack lunch, planting her butt right next to Pacifica. Dipper, Candy, and Grenda followed suit, a little hesitant to sit with the popular girls. Dipper took a seat across from Mabel, and after receiving a glare from Pacifica, the other popular girls scooted away in disgust to make room for Grenda and Candy.

Mabel and Dipper each had an apple, a bag of trail mix, cheese crackers, some old man hard candy, and a sandwich labeled 'the grunkle stanwich.'

Mabel grinned at her lunch and started to munch on the crackers. "This school isn't so bad! I think I'll like it here. Does anyone want to trade for my trail mix? Any takers?" Mabel waves her ziploc baggie at the other girls.

Candy offered a fruit roll up. "I'll take it, I enjoy crunchy things." She leaned over a prissy girl, Martha, to grab Mabel's trail mix, making the snob scoff.

Pacifica cleared her throat. "So, Dipper, I was just telling my friends here about your uncle. The one with the PhD. Isn't it true that he worked on Ronald Reagan's campaign team?" She said, noticing the way the other members of her clique were acting, and working out a way to put a stop to it in her head.

"Oh! Um, yes, he did. He's brilliant actually, he's invented all of these cool things, and he studies all of the paranormal activity in Gravity Falls! He's the reason I could help you with the ghost at your fancy gala."

"Paranormal activity?" Jenny asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That movie was lame." Martha rolled her eyes.

"Pacifica, you didn't mention Dipper being _hired help_ at your fancy gala." Heather said, narrowing her eyes.

" _That's_ because he wasn't. Dipper and Mabel were invited guests, as well as their friends Candy and Grenda. _Maybe_ if you can't recognize social class, you're not _fit_ to be in the clique, _Heather_." Pacifica said, matter of factly. If she couldn't stop these girls from causing a fuss and making her friends uncomfortable, then she sure as heck could take them down a few pegs. "And Jenny, Martha, you _can't_ be serious! You're telling me that you _didn't once_ read any of my status updates over the summer? I livetweeted an entire ghost attack! You must not really be my friends."

Mabel was touched that Pacifica was standing up for her and her friends, though she was a bit concerned Pacifica was pushing away her own friends. She knew how much social status meant in Pacifica's world. "It was quite the spectacle!" Mabel added, trying to lighten up the conversation. "Everyone was turned into a tree, and Pacifica had to break a curse on her family's name!"

"I got a rich Austrian Prince's phone number!" Grenda added.

"He was dreamy." Candy mused.

Dipper munched on his 'stanwich' as he watched the drama ensue.

The popular crew pouted, knowing if they blew Pacifica off, they could be replaced in a second, so they went back to eating.

Mabel passed a note to Pacifica at the table, with pink gel pen and hearts over the I's reading, 'thanks for being so nice Pacifica' and a sweet smiley face doodle. Mabel grinned at Pacifica and chewed on her fruit roll up. Pacifica flashed Mabel a smile, before taking a bite of her own fancy lunch, and getting back to the gossip.

After lunch, Dipper and Mabel returned to their lockers to get ready for their last classes. It seemed all of their electives and easy classes got squished in before lunch, and they saved the worst for last. Dipper spun the combination to his locker and did a double take when he noticed all of his books were missing. "What the...! Mabel! Did you get into my locker?"

"Why the dink would I do that?" Mabel looked over her shoulder to peer into her brother's locker. "Someone stole your books! My science book was in there! Grunkle Stan will be _so_ mad if he has to pay for a lost book!"

"Well, my _journal_ was in there! Great Uncle Ford gave me that!" Dipper said, before he paused. He inspected his locker closely, finding a sticky film of what looked like _glitter_ covering the bottom of his locker. "Hmm.." He dug in his vest pocket for a few pages he had copied from Ford's journals, he'd always kept a few for emergencies. He flipped through the xeroxed pages. _Vampires, zombies, Bill, pixies, hide-behind..._ "Wait!" Dipper said aloud. "Pixies: Pesky and mischievous creatures with a knack for petty theft and vandalism. They excrete a shimmery substance called pixie dust that can be found at the scene of their crimes... Mabel, the school has a pixie infestation!"

Mabel frowned, looking at Ford's drawing of a pixie. "I thought pixies were supposed to be cute."

"You're thinking of faeries, those are cute, these are their deadbeat cousins. We've gotta find them and get our books back!" Dipper said, tucking the paper back into his vest pocket.

"Alright, but how do we do that without skipping class?" Mabel said. "We already dodged a bullet once, we can't skip. And we can't go into class without our books, either."

"Mabel, I hate to say this, but we need to find Coach Berkley." Dipper said, folding his fingers. "He said this town could get weird, he probably knows about the paranormal. And if we have a teacher with us we can't get in trouble."

"Well, I guess it's worth a shot. He did say to come get him if anything tries to mess with us." Mabel said, scratching her chin.

"I thought I'd never say this, but let's go to the gym!" Dipper exclaimed and pulled his hat tighter on his head, and the two were off.

Coach Berkley's office was cluttered with old papers and older sports equipment, and usually smelled like turkey on rye, despite the fact that Coach Berkley had never eaten turkey in his life. Nevertheless, Berkley enjoyed spending his lunch break in there. It was quiet, no students, no teachers, just him, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and the occasional cricket.

That is, until he saw something scaly skitter across his desk.

"Eep!" Berkley squeaked, jumping up from his desk and reaching for a manilla folder to pick it up with. The creature was about four inches tall, with silver scaly skin that came off in flakes, pointed ears and teeth, and big black bug eyes. Berkley would have sworn it was a lizard, except for the fact that it was _humanoid._ "O-okay, weird, creepy thing. I don't w-wanna hurt you, and you d-don't wanna hurt me. So howsabout you just hop onto this folder, and I'll toss ya outside, okay?" Berkley stuttered, trying to slide the folder underneath the creatures feet. The creature didn't seem to like that much, and pounced over the folder and onto Berkley's hand, sinking its fangs into the coach's finger. It felt like getting a shot, it hurt enough to be annoying. "Hey, stop that!" Berkley screamed, dropping the folder and trying to shake the thing off his hand. "Get off me! I just wanna eat lunch!" Finally the thing let go, and was sent flying across the room. Berkley held his breath for a moment, before the creature stood up, shook itself off, and scurried away. "Phew... well at least I didn't kill the thing."

There was a knock at the door, followed by small voices, "Coach Berkley? Are you in there?"

Coach Berkley slowly walked over to the door, keeping an eye out for any more of those… whatever-they-weres. "Yeah, kids. I'm in here, what can I do for ya?" He said, opening the door.

"This is going to sound _crazy_ … but our textbooks have been stolen by pixies and we need your help to get them back." Dipper explained and handed Berkeley the page on pixies.

"Oh, that doesn't sound crazy at all. I think just saw one in my office. Frankly, I'm surprised you two are so calm about the existence of pixies. How long have you been living in Gravity Falls again?" Coach Berkley said, scratching his chin. "This is very good, did you draw this?" He asked, handing the page back to Dipper.

"We stayed here over the summer..." Mabel sighed. "We've been dealing with this junk for a while now. Our uncle wrote some nerd books about these kinds of things, he's kind of an expert."

"So, let me get this straight, pixies stole your books, and you can't get them back without skipping class, which is why you need me to come along? So you don't get in trouble?"

"Uh-huh." Mabel nodded.

"I'll write you two hall passes. We'll say you were helping me sort out the equipment room when some polish got on your clothes and you had to clean yourselves off." Coach Berkley said. "I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure pixies are known to kidnap children so I'll be supervising you two." Berkley reached into a drawer in his desk, filling out two hall passes. "So you stayed here over the summer? What'dya think about that earthquake?" He asked.

"It sure was...exciting!" Mabel smirked at Dipper knowingly. "It brought our family together, for sure."

"Between you and me, kids, I'm not so sure that was an _earthquake_. Though, being from San Francisco I'm sure you'd know more about those than I would." Coach Berkley said, chuckling a bit. "Alright, I've got your hall passes. Do you know where these things might be hiding your stuff?"

"No, we don't, but they leave trails of pixie dust." Dipper examined the glittery silver stuff littering Coach Berkley's desk. "All we have to do is find the glitter."

Mabel swiped her finger across the desk and narrowed her eyes. "I'm a glitter _expert._ Let's get those books back!"

"Wait, let me grab a broom or something. Just in case." Coach Berkley said, fumbling around the piles of old equipment for the old corn broom he kept in the back. "Alright, kids. Lead the way!"

Mabel searched the room for more pixie dust, finding some near the door. "This way!" She said, pointing her finger. She and Dipper rushed down the hall, Coach Berkley following behind, carrying the broom like a shotgun. A small trail led out of the gym, past a row of lockers, and into the school library. The school's library was a large, circular room that took up two stories to hold the thousands of books inside. "Looks like they're planning on stealing everyone's books!" Mabel said, pushing open the door and entering the library. Two librarians were cowering behind their desk, clearly afraid of something.

"I think they're just hiding out here, Mabel." Dipper said, looking at the journal page. "It says here that pixies like to nest underneath Ringforts and Dolmens. Those are… kind of like the library? It's definitely round like a Ringfort, and a table is essentially a Dolmen… Let's just find our books and get to class as soon as possible." Dipper said, tugging at his shirt.

"Hey, what's that over there?" Coach Berkley asked, pointing to the far corner of the library.

Under one of the library tables, there was a little Dolmen fashioned out of textbooks. All of Dipper's books were close to the edge, tattered and torn by the pixies, and his journal was stacked on top, the pages coated in pixie dust.

"My journal!" Dipper cried, earning a _shh_ from the librarians who were cowering on the other side of the room. He grabbed his journal from the top of the makeshift Dolmen, frantically trying to scrub away the pixie dust. The slimy silvery flakes simply ground themselves further into the paper. "No, no, no! Great Uncle Ford gave me this!" He said, flipping through the pages, trying to find one that wasn't damaged. The note Mabel had given him earlier fell to the floor, a tattered mess.

Dipper shivered when he received a chorus of hisses from the crowd of pixies hiding behind the books. He didn't have time to jump back before the first of them pounced. One wasn't nearly enough to injure a human, but there were easily fifty of the tiny creatures.

Mabel lunged for her brother and tried to swat the pixies away. "Shoo! Get a library card, these books are ours!" A couple of the critters latched themselves onto Mabel's arm with their sharp teeth, making Mabel squeal. "Hey, stop that!" She flung her arm, sending the pixies flying straight into the wall with a splat.

"You scaly freaks get off of my students!" Coach Berkley yelled, swatting the pixies away with the broom. Once enough of them fell away, Berkley grabbed Dipper and Mabel under one arm and fled the library, heading back towards the gym, where there was a door that led out to the soccer field. "Dipper, Mabel, are you alright?" He asked, sprinting as fast as he could with roughly two hundred pounds of thirteen year olds in his hands. The pixies were chasing after the trio, eager to get what they perceived to be their book back.

"I'm fine, Coach Berkley." Mabel said, plucking a pixie from her elbow. "...Dipper?"

Dipper didn't say anything, he just clutched his journal tighter, trying to ignore the hisses of the pixies behind them.

Coach Berkley practically kicked down the door to the soccer field, squinting at the sudden bright light. He raced down the sidewalk, past the flower bushes that lined the fence, and out onto the soccer field. The pixies gathered just outside the fence, antsy but no longer attacking. "I think… We're safe for now, kids." He said, gasping for breath. He gently set Dipper and Mabel down on the grass. "Are you two hurt?"

Mabel inspected her pixie bites, swollen up like mosquito bites. "I'm just a little itchy. Dipper, does your journal page say anything about pixie bites?"

Dipper sunk to the ground, hugging his knees. "I'm fine… Coach Berkley, do you have a phone? I-I wanna call my uncle so he can pick me up…"

Mabel frowned and sat down next to Dipper, pulling her band aids out of her backpack. "Did they get you, Dipper? Don't worry, we'll get the books back! We just have to distract them."

"I'm not _hurt_ , it's just… I don't _like_ it here..." Dipper trailed off, flipping through his ruined journal. "...I wanna go home."

Mabel looked closer at Dipper's journal, realizing it was coated in sticky glittery goop, and sighed. "Oh man...I'm sorry about your journal, Dip... Maybe we _should_ just go home." Mabel leaned against her brother, defeated.

"Kids…" Coach Berkley sighed, sitting on the grass across from them. "I'm sorry about your books, and I'm sorry this town is filled with paranormal weirdness. I shouldn't have let you two go off after these things." Berkley glanced over to the fence, where the pixies were waiting for them just beyond the flower bushes. "I don't have a cell with me, but they don't seem to be attacking right now. Soccer practice starts at 3:30, we'll just have to wait them out until then. Even if you two don't come back to school tomorrow, I still enjoyed meeting you today." He said with a smile.

Mabel wiped her eyes and sniffled. "I just want things to be normal again. I miss San Francisco. I miss Mom and Dad."

"I'm sorry…" Berkley said, realization dawning on his face. He put a hand their shoulders. "I know it's hard, being in a new place. Especially once a new school year has started, and you don't know anybody."

"...I just feel _stuck_." Dipper said, hugging his knees. "I want to go home, but I'm stuck _here_."

"...Stuck… Dipper, that's it!" Mabel said, jumping up. "That's why the pixies were in the library! That's why they aren't attacking us now! They're _stuck_!"

Dipper looked up at Mabel with doubt in his eyes. "I don't get what you mean."

"Think about it, when has a magical creature ever just _stopped_ attacking us?" Mabel asked, putting her hands on her hips.

"...Well, I guess Bill hasn't attacked in a while, but that's because of the-" Dipper's eyes widened in realization. "Because of the _barrier_. Something around the school must have trapped those pixies inside!"

"Maybe it's the flowers?" Coach Berkley said. "They were just planted over the weekend, and they're all around the school. St. John's Wort, I think."

"That must be the pixie's weakness! We can catch them, and release them outside of school grounds." Dipper said, standing up. "And I think I've got a plan… If Coach Berkley can distract the pixies with my journal, we can use the St. John's Wort to herd the pixies off campus! We can just reach through the fence and pick as many flowers as we want."

"Dipper, that's a great idea! I'll lure them towards the other end of the soccer field, closer to the forest. Once we've got the pixies off campus, we can just close the barrier with the flowers." Coach Berkley said, standing up. "Alright, let's do this. Hand me your journal. I'll start distracting the pixies while you two get the flowers."

Mabel sped over to the flower bushes as fast as her legs would take her and started picking flowers, hiking her sweater up to use as a pouch, and Dipper followed suit. Berkley grabbed Dipper's journal climbed over the edge of the fence.

"Alright, you scaly creeps, you want this kid's diary? Well, come get it!" He shouted, waving his arms. The swarm of pixies scrambled towards him, hoping to get close enough to attack, but Berkley was too quick.

Once Dipper and Mabel had enough flowers, they snuck through the gate, behind the pixies. Berkley kept backing up towards the forest, luring the pixies towards him with the book, and used his foot to kick over a bush of the St. John's Wort, letting the pixies follow him outside the barrier. Once the last of the pixies were clear, Dipper and Mabel stuffed their flowers into the ground behind them, resealing the campus.

"Coach Berkley, get outta there!" Dipper yelled, once he and Mabel were done. Berkley nodded and threw the journal to Dipper, who barely caught it. Berkley ran around the swarm of pixies, being careful not to crush any, and vaulted over the bushes separating the school from the forest.

"You think that did it?" Coach Berkley asked, his hands on his knees.

The pixies stood just outside the barrier for a moment, as if trying to decide if they should claw their way back in, before skittering off into the forest, leaving a trail of pixie dust in the grass.

"Well, at least we got rid of the pixies. Even though all our books are ruined." Dipper sighed, thumbing through his journal.

"And Grunkle Stan's not going to be too happy about having to replace them after just one day…" Mabel said. " _If_ we decide to come back."

Coach Berkeley sighed and placed a hand on Dipper's shoulder. "Listen… I _may_ be able to pull some strings and replace your textbooks. I can sneak us into the room where we keep em and switch them out. No one will ever notice, believe me."

"...Really?" Dipper asked, looking up at Berkley.

"Yeah. No one's really going to believe us if we say _pixies_ destroyed your textbooks." Coach Berkley said.

Mabel let out a big " _PHEW!"_ And wiped sweat from her brow. "But we can't replace Dipper's journal… I'm sorry Dipper."

"It's okay… I guess I can just ask Ford for another one…" Dipper said, sighing. "I just wish I'd taken better care of this one."

"Hey now, it's not your fault." Coach Berkley said. "We should probably get inside and switch out the books. Your class would have started about fifteen minutes ago, so they'll definitely be looking for you by now."

Dipper hung his head and clung to his sticky, pixie dust covered journal. Mabel patted him on the back, knowing this would ruin the rest of Dipper's day. Coach Berkley ushered the kids inside, keeping an eye out for any stray faculty members who might want to ask why they were out of class, and the three snuck back into the library to grab their tattered books.

"Wow, they really did a number on these." Berkley said, holding a math book whose pages were peeling off of the binding, flakes of pixie dust trailing from the cover. "Let's just find your books and make the switch."

"Coach Berkley? Thank you for helping us with this." Dipper said, quietly, grabbing his books and following Berkley towards the storage room.

"Of course, kids. It's my job." Berkley unlocked the book storage room and searches through the stacks of books. "Eighth grade? You need...history...science...math..."

"Don't forget English!" Mabel said, holding two more textbooks. "Everyone always forgets English."

"English, right." Coach Berkley handed each of the twins their books. "Actually, why don't I carry all of those? Books seem to get heavier each year, and trust me, you don't want back problems."

"Really? Thanks, Coach." Dipper said, smiling a bit. "You're… You're a lot nicer than I thought you'd be."

Coach Berkley chuckled and hauled the stack of books out of the library. "Thanks… I think?"

"There he is! Coach Berkley!" One of the frightened librarians from earlier, a small elderly woman named Ms. Margaret, shuffled over to the group. "I wanted to thank you for getting those pesky… lizard things? I think they were some sort of lizard… I wanted to thank you for getting them out of my library. We were so scared when they started carrying the books off!"

"Oh, right! Yes, Ms. Margaret," Berkley said, scratching the back of his head. "Yes, the _lizards_ , that's what they were. They're gone now, thank heavens. Your library is safe." He said chuckling.

"You should join us in the teacher's lounge sometime, Berkley. Mrs. Grimwald always brings the best casseroles." Ms. Margaret said, giggling a bit. "Well, I'm sure I'll see you later, Coach Berkley." She said, leaving the group behind her.

Mabel grinned up at Coach Berkley as he escorted the twins to their lockers. "Those little librarians _like_ you."

"Mabel, I'm not sure how old you think I am, but Ms. Margaret is old enough to be my _mother_." Berkley said, raising an eyebrow. "Anyways, I think it'd be best if you kids didn't go around telling anybody about supernatural stuff. It happens all the time, but for some reason nobody seems to recognize it when it happens… And when people _do_ figure it out, they stop talking about it. Almost like they forgot it ever happened. I don't want to scare you kids, but _something's_ going on in this town, and I don't want you winding up on the wrong end of it."

Mabel and Dipper gave each other the same _He doesn't know the half of it_ look, and took their books back from Berkley.

"Yeah, we'll keep an _eye_ out. But, uh, if you do tell people about the paranormal, you won't get hurt. Trust us." Mabel said as she put her books safely in her locker. "Welp...I guess we should get back to our class. Thanks again, Coach."

"Hey, that's what I'm here for. And don't forget to show your teachers your hall passes. Remember, you were helping me sort out the office during lunch, when you spilled cleaner on your clothes and had to go clean off, right?" Coach Berkley said, resisting the urge to wink at them, knowing it made Dipper uncomfortable. "And, uh, let me know if you need help again."

"Will do." Dipper clutched his hall pass and gave Coach Berkeley a small little wave as he and Mabel walked to their class, almost 20 minutes late. Thankfully, their math teacher believed their lie, and made them each promise to come into her classroom after school that Wednesday for tutoring, and the rest of their school day went off without any paranormal events.

After school let out, Mabel found Dipper sitting on a bench outside, waiting for the busses to arrive from the high school so they could go home.

"...So, what do you think?" She asked, taking a stick of gum out of her pocket and chewing it. "...Do you want to come back tomorrow?"

Dipper paused for a moment, staring at his feet. "I don't know." He said quietly.

Mabel pulled out another stick of gum and offered it to Dipper. "It was pretty crazy. And I do miss San Francisco. But this is our home now, Dipper. I'm still sad… but we have to keep doing normal stuff. I think Mom and Dad would want us to go to school and try to be happy again..." Mabel looked away as she blew a big bubble.

Dipper silently took the gum and turned it over in his hands, tucking his knees up to his chest. "...Can we decide later?" He whispered. The busses came into view on the road, already half full with students from the high school.

"Sure." Mabel hopped up from the bench and held onto the straps of her backpack. "Alright, Dipdop, let's get home."

The bus ride felt longer going home than it had coming back. Being one of the first kids on the bus that morning meant they'd be some of the last kids off that afternoon. Slowly the crowded bus wound down, its passengers filtering out the sliding doors each time the bus came to a stop, and it was just Dipper, Mabel, and the handful of other students who had been with them at the bus stop that morning.

Dipper and Mabel walked from the bus stop to the Shack on their own. It was a short walk and a straight shot. As they came up on the horizon, Mabel squinted and focused on the porch. "Is that Grunkle Ford with… Mr. McGucket? HE GOT A _MAKEOVER._ " Mabel stopped in her tracks and squealed. " _Dipper, they're holding hands!_ "

"Mabel, calm down, that could mean anything." Dipper said, though he wasn't so sure himself. Ford caught sight of the kids and waved, and Fiddleford followed suit.

Mabel beamed from ear to ear as they stepped onto the porch. "Helloooo, Grunkle Ford... _Grunkle_ McGucket" Mabel winked.

"Mabel, what are you implying?" Ford asked, squinting a bit. He loosened his grip on Fiddleford's hand, but didn't let go.

"Well, if Mr. McGucket is going to be living with us… getting _closer_ with us, we might as well be on more… casual terms, right? Looking good by the way!" Mabel could have exploded with joy for her Grunkle Ford.

Fiddleford blushed a little and waved his hand. "Aw, shucks, thank you darlin'. I'm feelin' good."

"Mabel, I think it's time we talked, uncle to niece." Ford said, standing up from the couch. Ford grabbed Mabel's hand and led her inside the gift shop.

Mabel frowned and pulled her hand back once they were inside. She thought Ford was happy, that he and McGucket were becoming official, she was excited. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, Mabel, you're not in trouble." Ford said, furrowing his brow. "I just need to explain some things to you in the best way that I can. I know you think Fiddleford and I should start dating, and I know you've been trying to set us up." Ford said, kneeling down to Mabel's level.

Mabel looked down at her feet, feeling a little ashamed. "I thought it would make you guys happy."

"...That's part of what I need to explain, actually." Ford said. "You see, you're not entirely off base. Fiddleford and I _did_ have a relationship in the past. But that was a very long time ago. It was before Fiddleford lost his memory, it was before I'd called Stan here to help hide my journals, and it was before I got sucked into the portal." Ford stared at Mabel for a moment, trying to figure out if this was getting to be too much for her. "When two people get separated like that, for a very long time, so long that they both meet other people? It takes time to figure out exactly where their relationship stands. So you've got to let other people figure that out for themselves, do you understand?"

Mabel nodded and looked back up at Ford, "Yes, Grunkle Ford. I'm sorry... Is it still ok if I call Mr. McGucket my Grunkle? He's almost like family now, he's been so nice to us."

"Of course you can, Mabel. As long as he's okay with it." Ford said, giving Mabel a crooked smile. "You know, earlier today, Stan had the same idea about us that you did?"

"He did?" Mabel frowned, remembering Stan's romantic 'advice' to Dipper during their road trip that summer. _I knew it,_ she thought to herself, _I'm no matchmaker_. She continued, "I think I'm a better matchmaker than him. But sometimes even _I'm_ wrong." Ford was taken aback, he'd thought that letting Mabel know that she wasn't alone in her matchmaking escapades would make her feel better.

"Well… I'll let you in on a secret. But you can't tell anybody. Got it?" Ford said.

"I promise!" Mabel bounced excitedly. _Grunkle Ford only tells Dipper his secrets, this must be important!_

"...You ever wonder where I got my old trench coat from? The one I never take off?" Ford said, smiling a bit.

"...Sure. Where?" _Guess it's not that important_ , Mabel thought.

"Someone I liked a lot gave it to me, a long time ago. For the past thirty years, it was like a little piece of home, the only one I had. You wanna know who that person was?" Ford asked.

Mabel's eyes widened and she nodded like crazy, almost giving herself whiplash. _Its not just important, IT'S JUICY!_

"Well, I'll give you a hint…" Ford said, nudging Mabel's shoulder. "He lives in the Shack."

"Is it...Mr. McGucket?!" Mabel said in a loud, excited whisper.

"Not so wrong now, eh?" Ford said, giving Mabel a small smile. "Just give it time, and I promise, if anything 'becomes official', you'll be the _first_ to know."

Mabel pounced on Ford with a big hug and squeezed with all her might. "Thank you, Grunkle Ford! I'll cheer silently from the sidelines from now on, I promise!"

Dipper poked his head in the door. "Can I come in now...? Mr. McGucket is trying to teach me how to play the banjo."

"Of course, Dipper." Ford said, standing up. "How was school?"

Mabel took off her backpack and drug it behind her as she exited the gift shop, and entered the house. "It's a _long_ story."

Dipper stood near the door, fumbling with the straps on his own backpack, staring at his feet.

"Dipper, what's wrong?" Ford asked, sitting on the floor across from his nephew. "Bad day?"

Dipper silently reached into his backpack, pulling out his ruined journal.

"My God, Dipper, is that pixie dust? What happened are you alright? You could have been carted off, why didn't you call me, I would have been there in an _instant_." Ford said, the words tripping off his tongue faster than he could process them. He reached out and pulled Dipper into a hug.

"M'fine, Great Uncle Ford. They didn't hurt me, their bites just itch a little." Dipper mumbled. "They took our books, and we were trapped on the soccer field, and the pixies were trapped in the school… and they ruined the journal you gave me and- Ford… I… I want to go _home_." He said, clutching Ford's trench coat for dear life.

Ford held Dipper close, his chest aching with heartbreak. He knew Dipper wouldn't be ready for school, it was too early, he needed more time to grieve. "I know you do, Dipper. I'm so so sorry." Ford said, rubbing small circles into his back. "You don't have to go back right away if you don't want to. I'll talk to Stan, tell him you need more time. In the meantime, let's get you cleaned up. In my travels I've found a pretty good cure for a pixie bite's itch, and I know a good way to remove pixie dust stains." Ford said, standing up and carrying Dipper into the kitchen, setting him down on the countertop. Ford began rummaging around in the cabinets. "Now let's see… where did I… Ah, here it is." Ford said, pulling out a jar labeled _Rowan Preserves._

"How's _jam_ going to fix the journal?" Dipper asked, raising an eyebrow.

" _This_ is actually to relieve the itching." Ford said, gently grabbing Dipper's arm and smearing the preserves onto his skin. "Just make sure you bathe well tonight, otherwise you'll get sticky. Feel better?" Ford asked. Dipper nodded, and Ford dug into his pocket, pulling out a small iron nail.

"Alright, Dipper. Hand me the journal." Ford said. Dipper complied, and Ford held the stained journal out over the sink, running the nail over the book. The pixie dust fell of the book, scales ungluing themselves from between the pages. A few moments later, it was as if the book had never been touched. "Iron is a natural pixie repellant, and it works just as well for their dust. That's why I always carry this nail around. It's not a very good weapon, but it'll keep pixies far, far away." He placed the nail in Dipper's palm gently. "Its always good to have a little iron on you. You should keep this. Just be careful with it, don't hurt yourself."

"Thank you, Great Uncle Ford." Dipper said, closing his hand around the nail, and stuffing it into his pocket. He hopped down from the counter and grabbed his journal, amazed that it looked good as new. It was a huge relief.

"Anytime, Dipper." Ford said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "...Do you still want me to talk to Stan about school? I know how tough school can be, and I know it's hard being in a new place. We can hold off another week."

"...But I'll still have to go back." Dipper said.

"Well that would probably be for the best. I do enjoy giving you and Mabel lessons, but you should also be trying to make friends your own age, and there's no better place to try than public education." Ford said.

Dipper frowned and held his journal tighter. "Do I really have to? You're smart enough, Great Uncle Ford. Why should I bother suffering through public school if I might not even have the chances you had?"

"Dipper, I'm going to tell you something." Ford said, kneeling down to look Dipper in the eyes. "When I was your age, I _hated_ going to school."

"You did?"

"I did. Everybody was always picking on me, and I can't tell you how many times I felt like giving up. But I pushed through because I knew I had the talent to do so. You have so much talent, Dipper, you're very intelligent, and you have even more potential than I did at your age." Ford paused. "There were times I got beat up back then. I didn't have very many friends, and the teachers never really took me seriously. Eventually, I was so far ahead of everybody that the teachers started hating me altogether, until high school, that is. But if I'd had the choice, I would have stayed in public school in a heartbeat rather than learn at home. I didn't realize it at first, but going to school, being in contact with what few friends I did have really helped, even if it was just Stan." Ford paused, taking a deep breath. "After Stanley left home, and I went to Backupsmore, I poured myself into my studies. It was fun, at first. In a lot of ways college is a lot less stressful than middle school and high school. There's not that constant pressure to fit in at college, you just do the work and try to pass. But for the first semester I barely ate, I almost never slept, and by the time midterms rolled around I was a nervous wreck. I didn't realize it at the time, and even if I had I wouldn't have admitted it, but I needed friends, needed Stan, in order to have fun and relax. Thankfully, Fiddleford and I became close friends after that first semester, and things got a little better. I won't force you to do anything you're not comfortable with, Dipper, but people need friends."

"Is that why you spend all your free time alone in the basement?" Dipper deadpanned.

" _That_ is the result of thirty years being forced to interact with species that are far less sociable than ours. Friendship is a necessity that I went without for a very long time, and you've seen some of the adverse effects that experience had on me." _You don't know the half of what that portal did, thank heavens,_ Ford thought, _but I hope this gets through to you. I don't want you to end up like me._ "You don't have to do it right away, but putting yourself out there, making new friends, is extremely important, and I'm _sure_ if your parents were here they'd be telling you the same thing."

Dipper looked away, deep in thought. He knew Ford was in pain, that something went wrong on the other side of that portal. As much as Dipper looked up to Ford, he didn't want to be _exactly_ like him. Ford was right. If Dipper wanted to be happy again, if he wanted to be what his parents had always wanted him to be, he would need to put himself out into the real world. His parents always gently pushed him to be more social, take an extra curricular, go to that school dance. His parents had never steered him wrong. "I think… I'd better do my homework now. It's due tomorrow, and I don't want to turn it in late." He said, smiling a bit.

Ford stood back up and smiled down at Dipper. "Let me know if you need any help."

"I will, Great Uncle Ford. Thanks." Dipper said before running upstairs to his room.


	11. Why Doesn't Anyone Call With Good News

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Stan shivered and wrapped his blazer closer around him. It hadn't quite gotten cold enough for a proper jacket, it was still late September, but the foggy morning air still had a biting chill to it. He'd walked the kids to the bus stop that morning, letting Ford sleep in a little bit, and waved as he watched the tiny red taillights of the bus fade into the mist. Stan looked around, a bit wary of the forest, sighed, and turned to go home.

Ford was already awake when Stan got back. He was standing over the gas lit stove, trying to wrap his head around how to fry eggs again. "...Do chicken eggs still need to be cooked until they're firm, or can I just eat them like this?" He muttered to himself, scratching his chin.

Stan made sure to make heavy footsteps into the kitchen, not wanting to startle Ford with his sudden presence. "Please don't tell me you're trying to cook breakfast, Ford." Stan grabbed the whole carton of eggs from the fridge and looked over Ford's shoulder to see his handiwork. "What are you trying to make?"

"Oh, good morning, Stan." Ford said, jumping back a little bit. Not much, but enough for Stan to take notice. "I was just making some eggs. Easy enough, right? It's still the same stove, I just can't remember how chicken eggs are supposed to be eaten. I know we always used to cook them, but you'd be surprised how many dimensions have eradicated salmonella and developed a taste for raw eggs." Ford paused, as if mulling something over in his head. "Do… Do you want one?"

"I'm pretty hungry, but if anyone's making breakfast, it'll be me. You look lost. I'll show you, step aside." Stan nudged his brother to one side, and lit the gas stove. "How do you want your eggs? Sunny side up, scrambled?"

"Sunny side up is fine, Stan." Ford said, watching Stan work. "If they ever lift the burn ban, I'll make something over a fire for you."

Stan chuckled and cracked two eggs over the sizzling pan. "Burn ban, shmurn-ban. I'd like to see you out-marshmallow-roast me."

"I haven't roasted marshmallows in a very long time," Ford smirked. "But have you ever tried roasted basabasa?"

"What the hell is that?" Stan poked the eggs and added some sausage to the pan.

"It's essentially a fire breathing chicken. Very rare around these parts, but they're considered an invasive and poisonous species in Dimension 890-E. Made a lot of money getting rid of those things, and had some decent food to boot."

"Are they spicy?" Stan laughed at his own joke and slapped his knee with the spatula he was using.

"No, they're actually very bland, especially if you lack any seasoning; a real chicken tastes a lot better. The fire they breathe is a cold, ghostly one, though, and the glands that help produce it are _delicious_ on a hot day."

Stan was pretty intrigued, his brother didn't share little stories like this often, he almost felt like they were kids again. "Hand me a plate, will you?"

"Sure." Ford said, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out three plates. "Fiddleford will be up soon, I'll just make breakfast for him when he comes up."

"Don't sweat it, the fire's still hot, I'll make him a plate too." Stan plated the eggs and sausage for Ford and got started on cooking up two more eggs.

"I can do it, Stan." Ford said, giving a light smile. "You cook every day, you should give yourself a break."

"The pot's calling the kettle black." Stan shoved the plate at Ford. "Go sit down and eat for once. Let me handle the food."

"Well… Will you at least join me?" Ford asked.

Stan smiled and hurried to finish what he had in his pan. "Yeah, I'll be there in a sec."

Ford waited patiently for Stan to finish cooking, taking only small bites of the sausage every now and then, and after a while, Stan took a seat across from Ford. Stan sprinkled some salt and pepper across his eggs and started to scarf down his breakfast. It wasn't gourmet, far from it, but knowing he was eating with his brother made the food taste great.

"It's hard to believe I've been back for over a month." Ford said, using his fork to slice open the yolk. "Even after everything that happened, it's starting to feel like home again."

"It feels almost strange to have a full house every day, but I don't hate it. I'm pretty glad you and Fiddleford are around." Stan paused. "And… I'm glad the kids had somewhere to turn after their parents passed. I wish Sherman and Alexandria were still alive, but I'd never forgive myself if those kids got lost in the system." Stan said, tears welling up in his eyes at the mention of the kids parents. "It means a lot that you let me stay in your house. The kids have a home, thanks to us. Thanks to you." He cleared his throat, trying to blink away the tears in his eyes.

"...The house wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you though." Ford said after a long while. "You're the one who made sure I had something to come back to. Christ, I don't know what I would have done if I'd just walked into an empty room, with an empty house above it."

"Well, me and the kids aren't going anywhere, so don't go thinking about empty houses, alright?" Stan forced a smile and finished his breakfast. "What's on your agenda today, Ford?"

"Well, Fiddleford and I are probably going to work double time in the basement today, we lost too much time yesterday at the mall. It was worth it, but we really should get back to business." Ford said, grabbing their plates and putting them in the sink to be washed later.

"Business?" Stan said, glancing out the window. "You two are always stuck down there, why don't you take another break? We could watch a movie? They made some new Star Wars ones while you were gone, you really missed out on a lot."

"I appreciate it Stan, but maybe later. I'm sure when Fiddleford wakes up he'll want to keep working on his memories. You can join us, if you wish-"

"No. Er, no thanks, I've spent enough time in your creepy basement." Stan said, backing away from Ford. "Come on, you deserve a break."

Fiddleford plodded into the kitchen with a big yawn He had slept in the sweater Mabel had given him, and his overalls last night, not wanting to mess up his new clothing. "Good mornin'." He stretched in the doorway and gave both Stan and Ford a big smile.

"Morning, Fiddleford." Stan said, raising his head in acknowledgement. "Say, you like those Star Wars movies?"

"Are those the ones with them light swords? I think I've seen one of those before." He shrugged and rooted around in the fridge for some breakfast.

Stan exaggerated his surprise "Whaaaat? You can't remember the Star Wars movies? Ford, we have to fix- hey!" Stan yelped as Ford grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him into the living room.

"Alright Stan, what's going on?" Ford asked, furrowing his brow. "Why are you so desperate to keep me out of the basement?" Ford sighed, a bored look on his face. "What did you do? Did you set up a prank somewhere in the house?"

Stan crossed his arms, "Why do you assume I'm trying to trick you? Maybe I genuinely want to indulge you with nerdy crap." Stan spoke defensively.

"Stan, I know for a fact that you can be a more convincing liar than that." Ford said. "Just tell me where the whoopee cushion or fake fountain pen is so Fiddleford and I can get to work. This is _important_ , Stanley. I don't have time for your games." He huffed.

Stan froze, his heart accelerated and he forgot how to breathe. He could feel Filbrick Pines breathing down his neck, the sharp pang of his voice, _you're not welcome in this household, you ignoramus, you mistake._ Stanley didn't feel himself back away from Ford, he didn't feel his own nails digging into his legs, his whole body tensing. He felt like nothing was real anymore, like he was just watching everything else pass him by. _He's gonna leave me behind all over again._

"Stanley?" Ford asked, picking up on the symptoms he himself knew by heart. _Something's not right, he hasn't been this bad since the synagogue_. Ford slowly wrapped an arm around Stan's shoulder, guiding him through the living room and to Stan's own room, away from Fiddleford.

Stan winced at his brother's touch and blindly followed him to the sanctity of his bedroom. He blinked and realized where he was, who was in front of him. Filbrick Pines was dead, and he had been for years. This was Stanford, and he hadn't left. Stan ran his hands over his face and through his hair, his glasses turning askew as the palm of his hand brushed against the lens. He took a deep, shuddering breath and whispered, "I'm sorry, Ford."

"Are you alright? What… What happened?" Ford had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer, but he sat down next to Stan and waited for him to reply. "Don't be sorry… Just tell me, Stan."

"Its..." Stan chuckled a little, his voice still shaking nervously, "You uh, sounded a lot like Dad."

"I'm sorry." Ford said, mentally kicking himself. "...He was a real prick."

"You can't help that you're related to him, it's gonna happen."

"Still, I…" Ford trailed off. "It wasn't too long ago that I was still acting like him…" Ford said, quietly, realization dawning. "...I must sound like him a lot, don't I?" He added.

"It's fine. Just, go ahead and get to your stuff in the basement. Don't worry about me. I know how to get through it." Stan said. "...Just be _careful_ in there…" He added softly.

Ford put an arm around Stan's shoulder, pulling him close. "...You don't have to get through it alone, though."

"This happens sometimes, Ford, I'll be fine." Stan said, though he didn't pull away. Ford reached his other arm out, pulling Stan into a bear hug. Stan leaned into his brother and closed his eyes, finally starting to relax again. "Ford, really, I'm okay. Come on, I still have to make the hillbilly some breakfast."

"Stan, I'll do it. What good would you showing me how to cook do if I didn't practice? But if you want to make sure I don't ruin the kitchen, I'd appreciate it." What Stan needed was validation, Ford had felt the same way a thousand times before. He did have work to do, but the most important thing right now was his brother's mental health. "...And once breakfast is done, let's watch a movie. I'm sure Fiddleford wouldn't mind."

Stan fixed his glasses and broke away from Ford to stand up. "Yeah... That sounds nice. Thanks, Ford." Stan's old Nokia started buzzing on the nightstand, playing the annoyingly classic Nokia ringtone. Stan huffed and picked his phone up, squinting at the screen before answering. It was an unknown number, likely a solicitor. "Yeah, hello?"

A sniffly voice came from the other line. "Grunkle S-Stan? I need you to p-pick me up." Stan blanched.

Ford stood up once Stan answered the phone. "Who is it? What's happening?"

"Mabel, sweetie, what's wrong? I'm on my way _right now._ " Stan said, running out of his room and towards the front door, Ford on his heels, a million different scenarios of what could be happening running through his head, many of them a repeat of what had happened the night of the Bar Mitzvah.

Mabel was silent on the other end of the phone, her voice hesitant, "I… um... I'm sick. I need to go home."

"Don't worry, Mabel, I'm on my way. Just sit tight, okay? I'll be there in ten minutes." Stan said. Ford ducked into the kitchen to tell Fiddleford where they were going, once Stan found his keys, they were off, careening towards the school as fast as the Stanley Mobile could carry them.

The school was thirty minutes away, if you obeyed traffic laws. But this was Stanley Pines on his way to rescue his niece, it only took him 7 minutes, flat. He stayed on the line the whole time, listening to Mabel to make sure she was OK. She didn't sound sick, but she could have picked up _anything_ from public school. "Okay, Mabel, we're here, I'll see you inside. I love you." He hung up when he took up a handicapped parking space and ran up to the school's entrance, Ford following behind him. Ford nearly kicked the door down, before Stan reminded him that as visitors they had to buzz in outside before the door would unlock.

Once they found their way to the nurse's office, the found Dipper pacing outside of the Nurse's office, picking at his bright green cast. "Grunkle Stan! Great Uncle Ford! Mabel asked me to walk her to the nurse's office but she wouldn't tell me what's wrong, is she going to be okay?"

"She told us over the phone she was sick, sport." Stan said.

"We'll have to pull her out of classes, will you be alright riding home on the bus by yourself?" Ford asked.

"Yeah... Yeah, I think I'll be okay... Just tell me if Mabel is gonna be okay." Dipper sat down in a chair outside of the office.

"We will, Dipper." Stan knocked on the door and poked his head in. Mabel was standing near the wall, with her hands tucked behind her back, her sweater tied around her waist.

"Oh, good, you must be her uncles." The school nurse, a short woman named Mrs. Huckabee, said. "Did she tell you to bring her a change of clothes?" Mabel's face flushed red.

"What exactly is going on here?" Stan asked. "Mabel, pumpkin, are you alright?"

Mabel shook her head and started to tear up, fumbling with the sleeves of her sweater.

The nurse sighed and handed Ford a clipboard to sign Mabel out of school. "Mabel _started_ for her first time."

"Started what?" Ford asked. "I haven't been in this di- _country_ for a while, I'm not up to date on slang terms."

A lightbulb popped over Stan's head and even he flushed a little. "Oh. _OH._ I'm sorry I didn't bring you some clothes, Mabel."

Ford knew that flush. He'd seen it a thousand times in his youth. Stan might have been a walking encyclopedia of cheesy pickup lines and false confidence, but when it came to health class, Stan had always been very modest, and whenever their mother had needed Stan to fetch her anything 'feminine' it had been a nightmare. Ford slowly knelt down to Mabel's level, took off his trench coat, and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Mabel started to _bawl_. She knew what Ford's coat meant to him, and she was embarrassed enough as it was.

"Mabel, it's okay," Ford whispered. "Did you see this thing when I stepped out of the portal? It was literally black with filth, a little blood isn't going to hurt it."

Stan grabbed Mabel's backpack for her and pulled the nurse aside. "Listen, I just got custody of Mabel and her brother, I've never raised any kids of my own. What exactly do I need to buy for this sort of thing?"

"Well, I'd start her out on pads. Kotex makes a line specifically for young girls, I'd make a stop at the drugstore before you take her home. If she's having cramps you can give her a couple of ibuprofen and she'll be alright. The first time is always a little traumatic, especially since she wasn't expecting it, but she'll be okay." Mrs. Huckabee said.

Stan sighed and hiked Mabel's backpack over his shoulder. "Thanks. Would you write a pass for her brother? He's been standing outside this whole time worried sick."

"Of… Of course, I'll get right on that." She said, reaching into her desk to fill out a hall pass.

"Come on, Mabel, let's get you home." Ford said, scooping Mabel into his arms and carrying her, making sure the coat didn't fall off her shoulders. Mabel clung to Ford, gripping his sweater. Stan got the door for his brother and held it open so he could carry Mabel down the hallway. Dipper jumped up when he saw them.

"Mabel! Are you alright? What's wrong?" Dipper asked, rubbing at the cast on his arm.

Mabel poked her head out from Ford's shoulder and faked a smile, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "I'm okay! I'll see you at home, DipDop. Tell everyone I'm okay." Her voice was shaky and she had snot in her nose. Mrs. Huckabee followed them out, and handed Dipper his hall pass. Dipper took it, but the worry didn't fall from his face. He waved as Mabel and the Grunkles disappeared down the hallway.

Stan opened the car door for Ford once they got to the car so he could lay Mabel down in the back seat. Mabel curled up and put her seat belt on. Ford slid in the back seat with Mabel and put his seatbelt on as well, following Mabel's example. Stan hopped in the front seat and made an effort to go slow as they drove off, not wanting Mabel to get hurt in her state.

"We're going to make a little stop so I can get some... supplies for you. I'll be fast and come right back so we can get home." Stan said as they pulled up to their local drugstore. "I'll be in and out, I promise." He hopped out of the car and swallowed his pride as he strolled inside and down the 'feminine hygiene' aisle. Every single box was pink or purple, priced over seven bucks, and seemed to be in a foreign language. "What the hell are wings?" Stan asked aloud, making another woman leave the aisle. Stan searched for a Kotex box, but he didn't find any that seemed to be marketed towards young girls like Mrs. Huckabee had told him. Stan sighed and grabbed a couple of boxes at random, making sure to go for the pinkest boxes with the most flowers, knowing Mabel would at least like the packaging. "Hopefully these work." He whispered to himself as he brought them to the check out.

In the car, Mabel had unbuckled her seat belt, and was curled up next to Ford.

"...Grunkle Ford, thank you." Mabel said, fiddling with the sleeves of Ford's trench coat. "I'm so embarrassed. It happened right before _gym class_ , everyone in the girl's locker room saw the stain on my skirt and started laughing. I had to get Dipper and Coach Berkley to walk me to the nurse's office."

"Oh, Mabel, I'm sorry. You don't deserve that. It's a completely natural occurrence, that's vital to both your health and our continued survival as a species."

"...Really?"

"Doesn't that middle school have a health class?" Ford asked. Granted, middle school education in the 1960s likely hadn't improved much over the years, but it was still a health class.

"We do, but they just show pictures of sick people and tell us about babies. I mean, I like babies, but I have questions and- and mom isn't-" Mabel shook with sobs.

"I'm sorry, Mabel," Ford said, wrapping an arm around her. "I miss her, too… But if you still have questions, I can answer them."

"Grunkle Ford, y-you can't re-remember h-how to work the _VCR_." Mabel cried, hiding her face in her sleeve. What Mabel needed in that moment was her mother, and the pain in her body amplified the pain in her heart.

"True, after thirty years of experiencing vastly different technologies I have gotten a little rusty, but though they were rare, I did encounter a few different versions of Earth. The basic biological systems _should_ be the same. With your Grunkle Stan's help, I'm positive we both can answer your questions, Mabel."

Just then, Stan unlocked the door and hopped back in the car, and handed Mabel the bag of products he just bought. Along with the mix of tampons and pads, he included a couple of candy bars he knew Mabel liked. "Is this going to be okay, Mabel?"

"I think so…" Mabel said, taking a candy bar out of the bag and slowly unwrapping it.

Stan started the car up and looked at Mabel from his rear view mirror. "Let's get home." He backed out of his parking spot, cringing as he nearly missed another vehicle, stifling a string of curse words.

Fiddleford was there to greet them when they got home, stirring a pot of chicken broth on the stove.

"Well, howdy, Mabel. Stanford told me you was feelin' under the weather, so I whipped up some soup fer ya." He said, scratching his newly trimmed beard. He was a little shocked to see Mabel wrapped up in Stanford's coat, it must have been worse than he thought. "I'll make you a bowl and bring it up to ya, you go get yourself some rest."

Mabel flushed bright red, nodded, and scurried up the stairs to go change, handing Ford's coat back to him. Ford wrapped the coat in a bundle and went to the kitchen sink to wash it by hand.

Upstairs, Mabel grabbed a change of clothes and locked herself in the bathroom, throwing her old ones in her hamper, trying to ignore the tiny stain on her skirt. She read over the instructions included in the box of pads Stan had picked out over and over, before finally attempting to put one on. It seemed really big, almost too big, but she managed to stick the pad to her underwear. She hated the feeling. _Its like some kind of... diaper. This happens every month? Oh god, I hate this. Mom would know what to do._ Mabel washed her hands thoroughly and splashed some water in her face. She looked in the mirror for a while. Getting your period is the official stamp of being a woman, but Mabel didn't feel like a woman. She felt like a scared little girl. She looked like a little girl.

Mabel began to cry again and spotted some scissors sitting on the bathroom counter next to her hair brush. She reached for the cold handle of the scissors and brought the blades close to a lock of her long curly hair. She squeezed her eyes shut and _snip_ , a curl fell to the floor. Mabel felt a rush, of what she wasn't sure, but she couldn't stop chopping away her brown locks until they came up to the nape of her neck, _just like mom's…_ She opened her eyes, expecting a beautiful cut for a beautiful young woman.

Instead she saw a frightened little girl with a jagged hairline that looked more like a rat's nest than hair.

She dropped the scissors and screamed. What had she done? She can't go to school tomorrow like this. She can't even come out of the bathroom like this! Her heart nearly stopped beating when she heard footsteps running up the stairs. She might not have to.

Ford kicked down the bathroom door.

"Mabel! What's wrong, are you hurt, is something attacking?!" He yelled, grabbing his pistol and shoving Mabel behind him.

Mabel screamed back, "No, Grunkle Ford, stop! Just leave me alone!"

Ford eyed the scissors and the locks of hair on the floor, and put the pistol away. He knelt down to Mabel's level. "Mabel, it's okay, we can fix this. It's just hair, you'll be fine."

Mabel sank to her knees and grabbed fistfulls of her hair. "I'm so stupid. I thought- I thought I'd look like mom."

"Oh, Mabel." Ford said, tears welling up in his eyes. "You're not stupid. You already look like your mother. It's just a bad haircut, we'll fix it, good as new."

Stan rushed up the stairs to check on the commotion and gasped. "Woah… Mabel, sweetie..." He pulled his phone out and started dialing. "I'm calling Wendy." Wendy was, sadly, the only woman Stan knew who he could trust, and he knew that she loved Dipper and Mabel. Wendy _had_ to know what to do.

"Mr. Pines, I'm at school, I can't come in to work right now." Wendy said, picking up the phone after two rings.

"Wendy, we both know you're playing hooky. I need your help. It's… It's Mabel. Its a _woman thing,_ she needs help,and Ford and I are totally lost." Stan said.

"I'll be right over." Wendy said. "Thompson, drive us to the Mystery Shack!" Her voice sounded farther away, and then the other end of the line went dead.

Mabel fell against Ford's chest and kept crying, she was completely exhausted, and just wanted to hide. Ford wrapped his arms around her, rubbing circles into her back.

"It'll be okay, Mabel. We'll get through this." Ford said softly.

Wendy arrived about ten minutes after she got the call, bringing a grocery bag stuffed with various items for Mabel. She let herself inside with her emergency key and called out, "Yo, Mr. Pines! Where's everybody at?" She climbed the stairs and found Stan and Ford outside of Mabel's bedroom. Stan stood off to the side, arms crossed and worry evident on his face. Ford was pacing, wringing his hands. "Geez, you guys really do look lost. Is it really that bad?"

"Yes. It's that bad." Ford huffed. "She's in there laying down."

Wendy knocked on Mabel's door and spoke through the crack, "Hey Mabel, can I come in? I brought you some stuff." Mabel's voice was faint, but it was enough to hear a yes.

Wendy slides in the room, where Mabel had the covers over her head. "Aw, man. Are you cramping? My cramps hurt like hell when I was your age." She sat down on the edge of Mabel's bed and fished out a little box of midol and a Gatorade from her grocery bag and placed them on Mabel's nightstand. "This stuff helps when you get cramps and you feel all bloaty… Mabes, are you okay?"

Mabel responded with a quick, "No," from under the covers.

"Wanna tell me what's wrong?" Wendy asked, leaning back against the headboard.

"No." Mabel pulled the covers tighter.

"You can tell me, dude, I've been through a lot of the same stuff you have." Wendy patted the lump of blankets that she guessed were Mabel's head.

Mabel groaned and slowly pulled the covers back, revealing her choppy new hairdo.

"Oh. Man. Did you try that yourself?" Wendy ran her hand through Mabel's hair gently. "Wow. I've seen worse, Mabel. Heck, I've _done_ worse. You should see what I did to Thompson two years back... This is totally an easy fix. I do Tambry's hair all the time, I can clean this up and you'll look absolutely cute. Do you trust me?" Wendy tousled Mabel's hair and sat back. "Is that what had your uncles all worried? I don't think they know a lot about this kinda thing, but Ford _does_ have a PhD, so I figured maybe…" Wendy sighed. "Why'd you cut your hair, kiddo?"

Mabel sits up and held one of her stuffed animals close. "I'm supposed to be a woman now, right? I had my bat mitzvah last year, and now my period, and I'm supposed to be a lady, and I'm only a year away from high school. But I don't feel like a woman. I thought… if I cut my hair to look like my mom… I'd look like she did. "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, _dude_. First of all, I'm pretty sure you look like your mom already. I've never met her, but Stan showed me a picture, and I'd say you look like her." Wendy said. " _Second_ , just because you had your bat mitzvah, and you have your period, _doesn't_ mean you're a woman. It doesn't just _happen_ , like a werewolf transformation or something. It just means you're _starting_ to become a woman. You're thirteen, you're still a little kid, you've got so many prime kid years ahead of you. People are going to try and tell you _oh, you're a woman now, you should act like this or that_ , but until you turn eighteen? You're still a kid. No matter what happens."

Mabel sniffled and wiped her eyes. She leaned against Wendy and wrapped her in a tiny hug. "You promise? I don't want to grow up yet."

"I promise." Wendy said, returning the hug. "Let's go let your uncles know you're feeling better, huh? Then I'll fix your hair, and you and me can pig out on some chocolate."

Mabel scooted out of her covers and climbed out of bed. "Yeah… yeah, okay." She opened her door, with Wendy right behind her. Ford and Stan stood at attention, afraid to say anything to upset Mabel again.

"...Mabel?" Stan asked softly. "You feelin' a little better, sweetie?"

Mabel nodded softly. "Mmhmm. I… I still have questions, though."

"Alright, Mabel. Shoot." Ford said.

"What… exactly _is_ a period?"

"Well, we'll start with the basics." Ford said. "You see, inside your body, just below your stomach and intestines, is an organ known as the uterus. This is the organ in which the fetus develops before birth. The interior chamber of the uterus houses thousands of tiny eggs, which the male later fertilizes. Once fertilization is complete, the eggs, now called embryos, will attach themselves to the uterine wall, where they will grow until one, or in your and my cases, _two_ , embryos grow into a fetus. Now, since the eggs inside your uterus have not been fertilized, your uterus is simply flushing out the unused eggs to make room for more, to prevent overcrowding. This is perfectly normal, and incredibly important in maintaining proper genetic diversity within the population. Am I going too fast?"

"Dr. Pines I'm going to be completely honest with you here," Wendy said. "That is absolutely _not_ how humans work. Christ, we're not in dimension fifty-whatever. Mabel, I'll give it to you simple. Your body is getting ready for its baby making future. Every month, a _single_ egg moves from the _ovaries_ , through the fallopian tubes, into the uterus, and then the uterus goes hog wild trying to fatten itself up to support a potential baby. And every month, it gets rid of a potential baby that you aren't using, and the excess lining, and it's so tiny, you just bleed it out. Which sucks, cause it's like your whole body is turning against you. So you keep doing that until you decide you want a baby."

"But I'm too young to have a baby." Mabel said.

"Exactly." Stan said. "So don't go fiddling around havin' sex with boys, and you won't. And if some snot nosed brat tries to push you around, kick 'em in the teeth."

"Wait. So you have to have sex with a boy to have a baby, right? Why would I go and do that?" Mabel asked, still a little confused.

"Frankly, Mabel, I'm not sure." Ford said. "The concept of sex is vastly overrated, in my opinion, and childbirth isn't that much better. Apparently 'when the time is right' your hormones will fluctuate and just kind of… _make_ you want to procreate and have children? But I've never observed this kind of behavior in either myself nor several other colleagues from various other human-populated dimensions."

Mabel put her hands on her hips. "So you're like... Asexual?"

"Wait, what?" Ford asked, raising an eyebrow.

Wendy sighed and rubbed her face. "This is a train wreck. Mabel, let's go sit down and all talk about this in the kitchen or something. Go get your computer, Mabel, we're giving your uncles a lesson." Mabel shrugged and went to go grab her laptop from her room.

Wendy grabbed both Ford and Stan by their hands and dragged them downstairs. "You two really are lost."

The family and Wendy had been sitting at the table for a few hours, huddled around Mabel's laptop, by the time Dipper came home from school. "Mabel, what happened to your hair? What's going on?"

"Oh, I, uh… I tried to cut it myself. Wendy's going to help me fix it." Mabel said.

"Wow...okay. Are you feeling better now?" Dipper sat at the table and looked over Wendy's shoulder at the laptop and balked. "What is that?"

"That would be a diagram of the uterus, Dipper." Wendy said.

"Ew why would you… wait… oh gross!"

Mabel threw one of her bracelets at Dipper's head. "Deal with it, Dip Dop, its happening! _The talk."_

Dipper tried to hide in his hat. "Do we _have_ to?"

"Well, technically I was going to give you the talk over the summer, but Ford's body swapping carpet got in the way of that." Stan said, waving his hand. "Look, kid, you should probably learn this stuff now. I don't want you two getting in over your head one day and not knowing what to do."

Wendy pulled up a picture of a crying baby to mess with Dipper. "Or THIS will happen!"

Dipper sighed and took a big breath. "Alright. Fine."

Mabel pulled up the tab on sexual orientation she had open and turned it to Dipper. "But first, _romance_! Apparently, Grunkle Ford is biromantic asexual, Grunkle Stan is bisexual, and… Wendy what did you decide on?"

Wendy shrugged "I dunno."

"And Wendy is undecided." Mabel declared, making both of the Grunkles go red.

"Okay, Mabel, next lesson: the importance of _not_ going around announcing other people's orientations to everyone unless they say it's _okay_." Ford said, covering his face.

"Sorry..." Mabel frowned and leaned her cheek on her hand. "I'm just happy for you is all."

"I know, but sometimes things like that can be _really_ dangerous, sweetheart." Ford said. "So you have to check with them before you start telling other people."

"I understand." Mabel looked down at the table. "It's just the first thing about this whole puberty thing that doesn't involve a lot of pain and blood and stuff…"

"So, Dipper, got any questions?" Wendy asked.

Dipper blushed a little. "U-um...well... I'm not sure...how old are you supposed to be to… have sex?"

Stan deadpanned, "Thirty-six."

"Stan, NO." Wendy glared at Stanley. "You shouldn't do it if you don't feel you're ready. Its totally different for everybody. Don't let anyone tell you you have to do it by a certain time, because those people are assholes. Don't let _anybody_ make you feel like you have to. If you get tricked into doing something you don't want to do... Just tell somebody. That goes for you _and_ Mabel." Wendy looked serious as the grave as she spoke.

"Anyone messes with you two, call me or Ford." Stan said, somehow looking more serious than Wendy. "We'd both kill to keep you two safe."

"What if... what if someday I got pregnant, but I didn't want to be?" Mabel asked with a small voice.

"Mabel, there are thousands of different medical procedures to abort an unwanted pregnancy." Ford said. "They're all safe when done properly, and the fetus isn't really capable of surviving outside the womb until well past the cutoff date for those procedures, so you wouldn't have to worry about feeling guilty or anything."

"... You wouldn't be mad?"

"Of course not, Mabel, it's ultimately your decision. In my time I've known several women who had to abort their pregnancies, they were all fine, strong women, who didn't take their decision lightly. I wouldn't be mad in the slightest if one day you joined their ranks." Ford paused. "Though, most of them were actual warriors from other dimensions, so I'd prefer if you didn't _literally_ join their ranks."

Mabel managed to laugh a little bit, she looked pretty relieved. "I feel a lot better now. Thank you guys."

"Anytime, kiddo. We're always going to be here for you, even if we're totally off base and have to call Wendy." Stan said, ruffling Mabel's hair.

Mabel looked to Wendy, "Can we fix my hair now?"

"Sure thing, dude. Go find a barstool or something tall to sit on and a towel. And bring me the scissors you used. Oh, and find a picture of the cut you want!"

Mabel hopped up from her seat and ran back up the stairs. When she left, Wendy emptied her grocery bag on the table, much to the men's horror. "Alright, crash course in period stuff, boys." She picked up a tampon and a pad in each hand. " _This_ is a tampon. _This_ a pad. They are different, and there a zillion types of each. These are the ones I like, but you should let Mabel choose her own. She's young so she's probably going to want thinner pads. Don't be scared of them, they are plastic and cotton and totally not scary. Woman up."

Dipper picked up one of the tampons and threw it at Grunkle Stan, making him jump, which made Dipper snort.

"So… where do you get the belts? For the pads?" Ford asked.

"Belts? Dude, they stick." Wendy opened one up and tore off the paper, and stuck it on Dipper's hat. "See? I think the last time they had to use belts was in what, the sixties? Fifties? Who cares, man."

Dipper peeled the pad off and laughed, sticking it on the table. "This is super weird." .

Mabel came back down with the scissors, dragging a stool down with her, and gaped at the sea of lady products on the kitchen table. "What the dink are you guys even doing!?"

Wendy took the scissors from Mabel and set them on the table. Mabel pulled up a picture on her cellphone of her mom and showed it to Wendy. "This is what I want."

Wendy took the phone and studied the picture. "This is your mom, right? I'm telling you Mabel, you're her spitting image."

"...Really?" Mabel asked.

"Yeah, man." Wendy said. "Now get your butt in a chair, I'm gonna work my _magic_." She said with a wink, and set about to cutting Mabel's hair.

"What do you want for dinner tonight, Mabel?" Stan asked, moving to the pantry to see what they had. "We've got spaghetti, but we don't have anything for meatballs unless you want canned meat, we've got uh… Well Fiddleford already made the soup for lunch..."

"Can we have spaghetti?" Mabel asked.

"Sure, kiddo." Stan said. "Dipper, if you've got homework, you'd better start working on it." Stan said, noticing that Dipper was trying to sneak away and leave his backpack downstairs.

"...Alright." Dipper sighed, and plopped down at the kitchen table.

"Hey, Fiddlenerd! We're done talkin' about puberty. If you've got plates I've got a sink to wash 'em in!" Stan called, grabbing a pot from a cupboard and filling it with water. Fiddleford poked his head into the kitchen from the living room, eager to put away his now empty bowl of soup. He couldn't let go to waste now that he knew Mabel wasn't sick _per se_.

Fiddleford raised his brow at the state of the kitchen, more than a little confused at the sudden appearance of a hair salon, and sauntered over to Ford, who still had a laptop set up at the table. "What ya got there, Stanford?" He said, setting his empty bowl on the table.

"This is Mabel's computer, she's allowed me to borrow it." Ford said, typing on the keyboard at a snail's pace. "Oh, look. They've put together a global seed bank in case the apocalypse happens. That might come in handy." He remarked.

Fiddleford slid into the chair next to Stanford to watch him use the computer. "Wow... I sure would love to take that apart, but I don't think Mabel would be too keen on it."

"I'm interested in how these work as well, though you are right. We might have to just buy one." Ford said, typing in 'astronomy discoveries since 1980s' into the search bar. "Also Neptune has rings? Apparently?"

Dipper looked up from his homework, "I have one of my older laptops you and Great Uncle Ford can use if you want."

"Oh, you don't have to go an' do that for me." McGucket said with a wave of his hand.

"No, really, it's fine. I never use it, and it's just taking up space right now." Dipper said.

"That's very generous of you, Dipper, Thank You." Ford gave Dipper a crooked smile.

Dipper hopped up from his seat. "I'll go get it for you, one sec." He rushed up the stairs to root around for his old laptop, made circa 2009.

"...I can't believe how much I missed." Ford said quietly, once Dipper was gone. "Heck, contact lenses are disposable now."

"The times change so quickly, even I miss a lot of things around here. We can learn about these things together." Fiddleford said, patting Ford's shoulder, relieved when Ford didn't shrink away at the touch.

"Thank you, Fidds." Ford said, smiling a bit. "Oh, good. This dimension figured out DNA sequencing." Ford remarked, earning a cackle from Fiddleford.

Dipper returned with the laptop in his arms, the charger bundled and resting on top. Dipper set it down in front of Fiddleford. "It still has some of my programs and files on it, but I can do a factory reset so it's just like new."

"Oh, I can take care of a lil' reset, I'm not that behind the times." Fiddleford said. "I do appreciate it, Dipper."

"Oh. Well, alright then… if you have any questions, let me know." Dipper sat back down at his spot, getting back to his homework.

Fiddleford turned the computer on and waited for it to start up. It wasn't as quick as it should be, but quicker than anything he had built in his own.

"So how... exactly do these things work?" Ford asked, once the computer had finished booting up. "I know you used to build these, but it was so long ago that I actually encountered one."

"Aw, there's not much to it. I reckon the only thing that's changed much is that they moved on to optical storage, so yer computermajig won't get ruined every time you walk past a magnet." Fiddleford cackled. "Here, I'll show ya." Fiddleford powered the machine down and turned it upside down to pry open the bottom of the computer, revealing the circuitry underneath. He let out a low whistle, like someone might give to a pretty woman. "Lookie here! Right down there's yer microprocessor, that's the part that actually does most of the computing, and there's yer RAM, which stores yer information. From there, you can basically make programs and run 'em on the computer. It used to be real limited back in our day, but nowadays you can do whatever you want." Fiddleford explained.

"Oh, so these alter reality now?" Ford said, backing away slowly.

"...Great Uncle Ford that's not quite what he meant." Dipper said, noting the confusion on McGucket's face. "I think he meant with more processing power, there are less limits on the kinds programs you can use. Better graphics and stuff like that."

"Oh, oh that's a relief." Ford said.

McGucket squinted at the circuits, trying to get a clear and up close look at everything. Bunches of ideas ran through his head, he could take apart his old computermajig and fix this one up to be even quicker than it already is.

Ford smiled a bit, taking note of the familiar gleam in Fiddleford's eye whenever he got an idea, a gleam he hadn't seen in years. "What are you thinking, Fidds?" He asked.

"I'm going to take some old parts from our old laptop and make us a custom computermajig!" Fiddleford said with a level of excitement not even comparable to his shopping trip the previous day.

"There's some tools in the basement, I'll go grab them." Ford said, standing up. "...And I'd… I'd be honored if you'd let me help you." He said, the pang of knowing he'd stopped Fiddleford from entering a billion dollar industry still fresh.

"I would love some help. Thank you, Stanford." Fiddleford smiled up sweetly at Ford, a look Ford hadn't seen in awhile.

"Okay, nerds, go make your laptop, just _not at the kitchen table._ " Stan said, from over the stove. "I've got dinner to make and I don't think computer parts are part of the ingredients."

Fiddleford stood up with the computer in his arms "I guess we'll relocate."

"Alright, I'll go grab some tools from the basement." Ford said, standing up and making his way through the living room to the vending machine.

"Great, I'll go with ya!" Fiddleford said, following Ford.

"Oh, you really don't have to, the tools are on the third floor, it's…" Ford trailed off, unsure of what to say. "It's got mice." He added haphazardly as they walked down the stairs towards the elevator.

"Aw, hush, I ain't afraid of a little ol' mouse." Fiddleford said, hopping into the elevator and pressing the third floor button. "Besides, it can't be much creepier than yer study. I always feel like somethin's watchin' me in there." Ford froze, having to look away, knowing _exactly_ why Fiddleford had that feeling, and knowing what could happen to Fiddleford if he ever remembered the truth. The elevator reached the third floor with a _ding_ , and Fiddleford stepped out as nonchalantly as ever. Ford, on the other hand, felt nauseous remembering the last time they'd been this far down the basement. Images of himself, cradling Fiddleford's prone body, listening to the bright and brilliant Fiddleford reduced to mumbling gibberish and eldritch tongues, flashed through his mind.

Fiddleford paused as he looked around the basement, a familiar feeling rising in his gut. "Stanford, I've been here. I... I remember this place." Fiddleford found a place to set his laptop down and ran his fingertips over dusty old equipment.

Ford felt his heart drop. This was it. Fiddleford was going to leave, he was going to do something awful to himself, just like last time. "...You do?" Ford asked quietly.

"This is where we worked together. We were buildin' that portal, I remember bein' down here so long we forgot what time of day it was!" He chuckled a little, "You used to fall asleep while we we're workin', and I'd have to tuck you in." All of the memories washing over Fiddleford were fond ones, making important discoveries and working, and accomplishing goals.

"...That's great, Fidds." Ford said, managing a small smile. _It might be because of the dismantled portal_ , he thought to himself. _That's why he's only remembering the early days… I hope..._ "Let's just grab what we need and go…"

"Alright, sounds like a plan." Fiddleford smiled and picked up his new computer. "Do you have my old laptop down here too?"

"No, I think that's in our room." Ford said, reaching underneath a control panel to grab a rusted toolbox. "Think this'll be all we need?" He asked, opening the box to reveal the plethora of tools inside, not all of them native to this dimension.

"That there is perfect!" Fiddleford inspected some of the strange foreign tools, excited to see how they work.

"Great." Ford said, turning to walk out of the room. "Let's… Let's go."

Fiddleford followed out happily. This place was far less eerie than he'd imagined, and gave Fiddleford the confidence that he was still the great scientist he once was. What's more, it gave him an extra bit of his memories back, a little extra piece of Stanford to hold onto until he was ready to hash things out between them.

Back in the kitchen, Wendy had made the last snip on Mabel's hair, and handed Mabel her phone with the front camera on. "Alright, dude, what do you think?"

Mabel gasped, she looked completely different. Her hair was cropped close to her face, her bangs curled up against her forehead, she looked like her mother, but she still looked like Mabel. "I… I _love_ it!" She said, ripping the towel off her shoulders and hugging Wendy.

Wendy set the scissors down and wrapped her arms around Mabel tight. "Good! I told you I could fix it. Everyone is going to love your new haircut, I know it."

"You look great, Mabel." Stan said, putting an arm around her shoulder. "You feelin' better, kiddo?"

Mabel nodded and latched onto Stan. "Yeah, I am. Thank you, Grunkle Stan, you're the best." She nuzzled her head into Stan's side and squeezed him as tight as she could.

"Thanks, sweetie." Stan said, a big smile on his face. He hugged Mabel back as tight as he could without hurting her. "Dinner's almost ready, why don't you and Dipper go see if Ford and McGucket are coming to eat?"

"Okay! Come on, Dipper." Mabel said, grabbing Dipper's good arm and pulling him out of his chair. "Hey, feel the back of my neck it's so smooth!" Her voice trailed off as she and Dipper went to find their scientist uncles.

Stan set to straining the pasta and setting up plates for the six of them. "Wendy? I, uh, I wanted to thank you for doing all that today." He said.

Wendy got to sweeping up Mabel's hair from the kitchen floor. "Yeah, no problem, Mr. Pines. I'd do anything for Dipper and Mabel, you know that. Sometimes a little girl just needs another girl for stuff like this."

Stan put a hand on Wendy's shoulder. "I know… And, hey, thanks for teachin' me and Ford, too. If anything ever happened… to _either_ of them, and we didn't know what to do? I'd never live with myself."

Wendy sighed and patted Stan's hand. "Don't sweat it. You would have figured it out eventually I'm sure... Who am I kidding, you're a wreck without me."

"Yeah, I know." Stan said, chuckling. "And, hey, I know I let you off the hook for skipping school today, but you really need to stay in school." He added. "I might just be an old high school dropout, but lemme tell ya, when they say getting jobs are easier when you've graduated with a diploma, they aren't kidding around."

Wendy leaned on her broom and looked down at the pile of hair on the floor. "Yeah, I know. But, sometimes its like, I'm not a genius, why should I even try? I pass and I fly under the radar, and that's enough for me. High school _sucks_."

"...Believe me, Wendy. I know _exactly_ how you feel…" Stan said, retracting his arm. "But barely passing and flying under the radar didn't exactly work out for me, and I don't want to see it fail you, too." Stan took a deep breath, reminding himself that Manly Dan was a good man, that he'd never kick Wendy out on the streets, that she'd never drop out of school because of crippling homelessness. "Look, I've covered for you long enough, if I catch you playing hooky again, I'm calling your dad."

"Stan! That's totally unfair!"

"Wendy, if I was a law abiding man, I'd have called your dad the first time it happened or reported you for truancy. I appreciate you doing this today, I really do, but this is your future we're talking about. Look, if you really were the idiot you think you are, then I'd've never hired you. Please, just promise me you'll stay in school." He said, handing her a plate of spaghetti, and moving to set the others on the table.

Wendy huffed and looked at the spaghetti in her hands. Stan really did care about her, and he couldn't put up with her bullshit forever. "Yeah, Stan... I promise." She sat at the table with her plate and leaned back in her chair. Dipper and Mabel soon came back, dragging McGucket and Ford by their hands, and the family sat down to eat dinner.


End file.
